Unstable
by SleeperAwakens
Summary: "The people who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do." Harry was sure he was mad. Hearing voices does that to a person. But only after he finally stops hearing them, he changes into a man that some people would gleefully declare insane. Prepare yourself – for Harry decides he is able to change the universe. Expanded summary inside!
1. The Voice in his head

******Author's note**

When I looked – really looked – at the first version of this story and compared it to my blog posts, I was frankly embarrassed. I could do better. I will do better. The problems with it were too numerous and I decided to do a full rewrite. So, with much more pride that it probably deserves, I present to you the Unstable!

I extend many thanks to my Beta – Rheassa. This wonderful lady helped me immensely.

******Expanded summary (slight spoiler warning):**

- Written in third person;

- Set after the Philosopher's stone. The cliché "Harry is transformed by the combination of poison and tears" has bored everyone to tears, yes? But as far as I know, no frickin' one used the ending of the first book as a starting point in that fashion. Before me, that is;

- Harry's character is changed – he is more insightful and sly. A healthy dose of self-assurance is also in the medication plan. A whole bunch of personality flaws come in the same package: he's going to be very prideful, mind-bogglingly stubborn and quite a scheming bastard. Nevertheless, I'm going for a **relatively** Light Harry with a strict no-killing policy;

- Most definitely not a Super!Harry. When Harry decides to search for power he will have to work hard for it, so no multiple magical Animagus forms, no famous magical ancestors that grant him their power, no power boosting rituals that no one besides him uses – there won't be annoying stuff like that here;

- No bashing, but neither will I Leather-Pantsify characters. At least, not much. There will be no Severitus here, hear me? Those who hate Ron and have no wish to see him a good character, you will not like this story. Someone challenged me to make Ron awesome, and I never back away from challenges;

- Harry will eventually leave Hogwarts. **His exploration of the world will be a major point of this fic.** Naturally, that means…

- …lots of OCs later in the story;

- Harry will excel at Transfiguration and Mind Arts, so in battles he will be using finesse and thinking tactically rather than rely on raw power and luck. That said, he won't like to fight at all;

- Harry is rich initially, but he is nowhere near Malfoys;

The final pairing is Harry/Gabrielle. NO, it won't be a god-awful soul bond. I will try and make the romance as realistic as possible, so no thru wuff for you. And before I forget, Harry will be a bit of a man-whore for a while before that – something like what you saw in the "Black Comedy". Hopefully, I can pull that as well as nonjon.

Rated M for sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. Unfortunately, the first will not be described directly. Sorry, you perverts. I can't write smut to save my life – it resembles a cut-out from a book of the "door-stopper" variety about quantum physics and their application to the theory of relativity or something.

"_blah_" – spells and Parsel speech

_Blah_ – thoughts

******Introduction**

Start Echo Diary.

Good evening… or is it night already? Damned polar day.

My name is Harry James Potter. It is the 5th January of the year 2021 and I'm currently sitting in my cabinet at the Antarctic Headquarters. It is a rather nice day disregarding the damn cold outside, but we can't have both secrecy and comfort, now can we?

I started this memoir as a favor to my beautiful wife who just won't stop asking me to do it, as she is planning to have kids (my opinion on the matter has been disregarded. Women), and she wants them to understand their father – apparently I have grown far too unapproachable over the years. Well, I can't argue with that, now can I? I understand her rationale, and after she's put up with all my outbursts, my awful temper, somewhat overbearing tendencies, paranoia of a Moody level and the rest of the delightful package that comes with being my wife I simply count it as my sacred duty to satisfy such small caprices. My only question was "Why do I have to start it now, while the theoretical children will only be able (and willing) to listen to my ramblings in their teenage years?" She laughed and said it will take just as much time for me to finish it. Again, I can't argue with that.

Well, I've written to my closest friends and even made some plans to find the other key participants of the events of those years to take their memories and create a fuller picture. I'm as ready as I can be to begin, but I'll admit I'm at a loss as to how should I start.

Will it be my crappy childhood? No, I will have inevitably told any children we have about it in order to stop their tantrums about not having a new toy or something. I can foresee that working like a charm.

Shall I tell you about my early school days, then? Hogwarts was certainly my first true home. It was where I found my first friends that stuck by me for all these years… no, that doesn't feel quite right. Who I was as a first year is very, very far from the person I am now.

When my wife once questioned me about the most life-changing event in all my life, my answer was, obviously, "our marriage". After she swatted at me and told me to stop sucking up and answer her question truthfully, I said: the Chamber of Secrets. It was that day that my personality made a complete one-eighty, setting me on the road to become the man I am now. However, the change started long before that, in my second direct confrontation with the man once known as Tom Riddle.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Voice in his head**

* * *

Harry Potter knelt on the floor, staring at the mortal remains of the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. He felt weak and sluggish - staggered by the weird burning in his veins that had started the moment Quirrell touched him and had grown stronger as the boy (encouraged by the consequences of this action) grasped the professor's head, making it crack and glow – like the burning embers of the common room fire.

Harry's vision started to darken a bit and he shook his head, forcing himself to stay awake. This action did nothing but summon a bout of nausea. He groaned. ___Great. Just great. After a heroic confrontation, throw up and faint. The Harry Potter patented method. All rights reserved._

It was when he defeated the urge to introduce the floor to his dinner and then his head that he noticed the thin wisps of smoke that were rising from the burned husk on the floor. They slowly gathered together, forming a horrifying likeness of a mask surrounded by smoky tendrils that slowly swirled in the air currents. The "mask" was eerily similar to the face that had been sticking out of the back of Quirrell's face not five minutes before that. Harry stared at the abomination in horror, not knowing what to do. It opened its mouth and with a furious scream launched itself at the boy. He didn't have time to even blink before the wrath entered his head.

That hurt.

That hurt a damn friggin' lot.

Harry cried in agony while that thing was tearing into his mind without a care. As it often happens when it comes to the Mind Arts, the unlucky first-year instinctively knew what Voldemort was trying to do. Either he'd control him, in order to make a last attempt at the Philosopher's Stone or, if that proved to be impossible, reduce him to the vegetable-like state. He felt the monster pick at his own thoughts, memories and feelings, discarding them after a brief glance as unimportant. After a while Voldemort stopped and Harry felt a distinct tinge of great shock, followed by pensiveness and then a dark glimmer of amusement, which somehow made the pain in his head even worse. After that, the process sped up, the presence in the boy's head only "touching" the contents of said head before continuing.

Harry did not know for how long he was lying there, shuddering and whimpering in pain. It surely felt like hours, but legilimency contact usually speeds time for the participants, so it could be just a few seconds. Finally, he felt Voldemort reach a decision, pausing in his search. The pause gave him a chance to breathe and blink a few times, before the Dark Lord began to tear into his brain with renewed vigor. In the first second of the torture Harry decided that the wraith was going to cut his losses and finish him off.

Afterwards he would say that the feeling was not unlike being lobotomized without anesthesia with a dull spoon. He could feel that his consciousness was being torn apart. He even stopped caring about it, the only thing that he wanted was to dull the pain. Harry tried to focus on the surroundings but to no avail. Then he tried to turn his attention to the not-quite-burning in his veins, with moderate success. With every second, the headache was lessening while the awareness of this strange feeling was intensifying.

At last, the agony that he was in just a couple of minutes before vanished without a trace. He tried prying his eyes open and managed to notice the wraith leaving his head and fleeing the room. Maybe even screaming.

The last thing that Harry remembered as he was pulled into the realm of unconsciousness was hearing a faint voice whispering:

"Well, that was quite an experience…"

He survived that, all right. He always did. However, the aftermath of the confrontation showed that Voldemort wasn't as unsuccessful as Dumbledore would believe.

There was a voice in his head.

Sometimes it was silent for days, while, on occasion, it was downright verbose. From its ramblings Harry figured out that it was separate from him. A self-aware entity. A very sarcastic, very stubborn, semi-sane Voice that was always nagging him about a variety of subjects including homework, his choice of friends (it simply didn't like Ron for some reason, and thought Hermione to be a boring know-it-all), his attitude towards many people, his self-esteem… If it didn't bad-mouth Voldemort on multiple occasions, Harry would have believed that it was a mole created to make him as mentally unstable as possible.

Of course, they would sometimes agree about something. The Voice didn't like Malfoy either. When Harry was walking away from another confrontation with the blond ponce in which they almost came down to hexes, Hermione started ranting at him and Ron.

"Honestly, I still can't understand why you don't simply ignore him! And even if you don't, it's no reason to point the wands! Violence isn't the answer!"

"She's right, it's not. Violence is a question, and the answer is 'yes'," the Voice snarked. "Well," it mused, "Unless the question is 'What do we do with Malfoy?', then violence is a perfectly suitable answer..."

The Voice was also obviously disgusted by Lockhart – even more so than Harry himself. Usually its comments were rare, however in the Defence classroom, the Voice seemingly decided that it was morally obligated to mutter disparaging and sometimes hilarious remarks almost non-stop.

"So when the hag saw the amulet I was wearing, she turned and ran! I, of course, let her be – live and let live, I say…" The obnoxious professor was regaling the audience with yet another tale from one of his numerous books, causing the male half of said audience to glare at him with boredom and/or contempt, while female contingent was staring at him with adoration. Even Hermione, whose brilliance was never questioned, just like the fact that the water is wet is never doubted, was staring at the blond fool with something akin to hero worship.

"More like you ran from the hag screaming like a little girl. You would never remember to apparate – if you even know how to do it in the first place," the Voice harrumphed.

Harry bit his lip hard, trying not to laugh as the other inhabitant of his mind showed him a mental picture of Lockhart running from a vague small figure, his blue robes flowing after him a-la Snape, his flip-flops (Where the hell did that come from?) squeaking with every stride, barely heard over the continuous and extremely high-pitched screams.

"I continued my journey and after three days I reached the mountains, where, with the tales of the locals, I was able to find the banshee I sought," Lockhart glanced at his watch. "Well, it seems that our time is over. The rest of the story will be told next time, but you could always read it in my magnificent book," he gave the class his best award-winning smile, causing a couple of girls to sigh.

"Magnificent, my non-existent arse," The Voice grumbled, "Those books are nothing more than hard cover autofellatio..."

Harry smothered his laughter, turning it into an enormous coughing fit. Yes, he decided, it wasn't all bad to share his head with someone else at times like these, even if he spent half of the DADA lessons red from trying to suppress his laughter. There were worse ways to go than burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh at a joke about Himalayan kittens and blood-sucking hyenas.

He'd learned to live with it. Harry hadn't told a single living soul about the Voice, though. It just didn't feel right. Of course, Hermione, being her usual perceptive self, figured out that there was always something bothering him and refused to buy his hurried excuses – thankfully she never quite figured out what it was.

Interestingly enough, the Voice grew pensive after Hermione's petrification. It wasn't as abrasive as it had been before that, even though its remarks were as sarcastic as always. It was… strangely upset, especially considering the acidic comments about Hermione it had spouted a couple of times. When Harry and Ron found a torn page that detailed basilisks in her hand, the Voice even grumbled something in what sounded like an approving tone.

What came next however was the Chamber disaster.

******The 6th of June, 1992, the Chamber of Secrets**

The blinded basilisk thrashed in pain. In its fury, it managed to land a glancing blow at the firebird, so small in comparison with the hell-knows-how-many-feet snake. With a surprised squawk the phoenix was thrown into a snake-shaped column. The bird fell to the floor and didn't move anymore – unconscious or dead, Harry didn't know.

"Fawkes!" He yelled. "Damn it!"

Harry swore loudly and ran towards the farthest statuesque column, his heart thumping loudly from the adrenaline in his veins.

"Kill the boy! You can still smell him!"

"Run, run, run, run like hell!" His second consciousness chanted.

Judging by the sounds, the sodding snake slithered after him. Harry gritted his teeth after assessing his chances of survival. _I have next to no chance to run away, not with the wet floor and the speed of the basilisk._ A split-second decision caused him to stop by the closest column and after gathering his courage, he turned around, raising the sword of Gryffindor. ___Hopefully, the snake will miss and will be stunned by collision with the column. Merlin, Morgana and Maeve, help me..._

"Run, fool, you don't stand a chance like that! Try to outmaneuver it, you suicidal idiot!" The Voice shouted at him in a slightly hysterical tone.

___I know, that's what I'm doing! _Harry snapped back, his temper flaring.

"You're doing it wrong!" He tuned it out, preferring to keep an eye on the enormous predator before him.

The snake stopped no further than five meters from the tired boy, slightly swaying and turning its head, searching for him. After a couple of seconds, it struck without any warning. Harry stumbled back a bit at the snake's strike – miraculously avoiding the teeth by a couple of inches. Regaining his footing, Harry slashed at the snake's nose, trying to hinder as much of its capability to smell him as possible. Unfortunately, the blade made very little damage – a flesh wound at the most. The basilisk roared and reared back – a scratch it may have been, but it did aggravate the monster further. Not pausing to confirm the boy's whereabouts, it struck again. This time it didn't miss. But... neither did Harry.

The basilisk reared back again, shrieking in agony – its brain was pierced by the blade that the boy somehow managed to hold on to. Harry fell to his knees and shuddered violently. He could feel blood in places that it wasn't meant to go into at all. It was as though liquid fire had formed in his veins. The floor shook when the titanic serpent fell – finally surrendering to the clutches of death – providing the force to drop Harry to the wet floor, crying soundlessly. His vocal chords seemed paralyzed – every part of him was begging for the pain to cease.

Riddle was saying something – Harry didn't listen to him. His vision was blurring- his senses were slowly shutting down, rendering him blind, deaf and mute. He knew it instinctively that he was dying, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. ___The pain will finally stop. I will see my parents. Yeah, that will be nice. _Harry smiled.

With half-closed eyes Harry managed to see a red flash.___Fawkes? What are you doing here, buddy? Go to Dumbledore, get him to return, he'll make it all better. Oh, are you crying? Why? It is not that sad that I'm dying..._

…

___Hold your basilisks._

His vision regained its focus. Suddenly, Harry could see Fawkes crying on the wounds in his shoulder and arm. He could hear Riddle gloating.

"The guy obviously watched one too many cheesy movies," the Voice noted in an absent voice. "Now, get yourself together. We just might get out of this alive."

After a moment of processing the scene before him, Harry lifted his still weak left arm and pulled out the broken fang that pierced it. The staggering pulse of pain that followed this action forced him to yelp, summoning the attention of the Dork-Lord-To-Be.

"What? You blasted bird!" Fawkes was thrown against the wall – again. Riddle was fiddling with Harry's wand and frowning at him.

"Ah, yes. Phoenix's tears. I forgot about them. There's too much poison in you for them to work completely, but I won't risk it. You managed to kill my basilisk – an incredible feat, especially with the hand you've been dealt."

Harry gritted his teeth. Fire in his veins, cooled for a moment by Fawkes's tears, was burning again. He looked around to find something – anything – to help the situation. Thoughts about giving up and dying left his head completely, vanishing like a mirage after a glass of water, as if they were never there. Harry wanted, no, needed to fight on. And at that moment, near his wounded right arm he saw Riddle's diary.

"Destroy the diary! It may disrupt whatever it is he's doing to Ginevra over there," the Voice said sharply, trying to regain some control over the situation.

Harry would readily admit that his inner voice did have its moments of brilliance, and fortunately it was having one of those. He gripped the basilisk fang with his now somewhat functional left arm and raised it over the black book.

"What are you doing?"

He ignored Riddle – which was very easy, as at the time all of his focus was on the fang and the Merlin damned pain that was encompassing his whole body. He dropped his arm with the fang on the diary.

The last thing Harry heard before falling into the blessed embrace of unconsciousness, satisfied with his last little trick, was a soul-piercing shriek of agony, and to him it sounded like a choir of angels.

Riddle screamed. Convulsed. Riddle frothed in the mouth. With each cry the figure was growing paler and more translucent. Riddle was ending.

And he realized it.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was not a fool by any means. He knew he would die if he didn't do something drastic, as his anchor to this plain was destroyed and his soul, as frail and torn as it was, was experiencing an undeniable pull of the Other Side. Riddle had nothing to lose and everything to gain, so he went all in.

He cut the magical line that connected him to the remains of the diary and concentrated on retaining his current form. The pull wavered.

Riddle envisioned himself as a cloud of energy and willed himself to lose all tangibility he earned from siphoning the magic from the Weasley girl to conserve the energy. From his admittedly limited study in true soul magic he knew that he had only one option – to become a wraith and seek out his elder counterpart, assimilate him and thereby anchor himself with all the Horcruxes that were created after the diary.

With a soft "poof" Tom Riddle Jr. coalesced into a wraith and immediately left the Chamber. He had someone to find.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Fawkes slowly crawled from the corner in which he was thrown. He steadily pulled himself over to the prone form of the boy he set out to save earlier, his wing no longer obeying his orders and instead dragging on the wet floor, accumulating a cover of millennia-old grime. The phoenix pulled, pushed and finally sat at the barely-breathing boy's chest. Not paying attention to the awakening girl nearby, the bird inhaled deeply and set itself ablaze.

___The hatchling is barely alive__, _Fawkes thought, ___the poison of the Great Serpent is nearly done with its task. And his mind is wounded as well, nearly split into two parts. I have to correct that. Such bravery cannot go without reward._

The flame surrounded Fawkes and Harry both. And then there was light.

******Fifteen minutes before, Headmaster's office**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not having a good day.

It began with him being summoned back to school, about which he was both relieved and wary. While it was good news that he was suddenly being reinstated as the headmaster, he was afraid of what could have caused it.

He was right to be afraid.

The youngest of the Weasley family was taken to the Chamber of Secrets, and judging by the morbid message on the wall, she was not likely to escape it alive. As if that wasn't enough, her youngest brother together with Harry Potter were nowhere to be found. If they had somehow guessed the location of the entrance to the Chamber, he was afraid for their lives despite their penchant to escape life-or-death situations relatively unscathed. Albus frowned.

If he was honest with himself, his inability to find the Chamber was greatly vexing to him. He was one of the most powerful wizards of Europe! He had single-handedly kept the political situation in the whole region stable, he manipulated, persuaded, bribed (all the things he abhorred) to protect the people in all of Britain – and Albus knew that he was the sole barrier that has stood against the Darkness. It has been so for a long, long time, and by Merlin, he was good at it.

Then came the attack on the Flamel residence while both Nicolas and Perenelle were away. His good friend and mentor was not amused. The attacker retreated after seeing a couple of documents, which stated that the stone was locked in a Gringott's safe. Fortunately, said vault was a part of the trap that Nicolas created to deter those who would wish the wonder that was the Philosopher's Stone for themselves. The real stone was somewhere else, in an unspecified location in the wilderness of Ural, in the middle of a cave warded to high heaven, so it was not threatened. The scary part was the magical signature that the wards "remembered".

Albus immediately recognized it as belonging to one Tom Riddle, although it was rather dim and nearly completely masked by another signature that after a couple of minutes of thought he realized belonged to his previous Muggle Studies professor that just the day before applied for the DADA position. After that, Nicolas and Albus decided to make a trap for the wraith.

It was decided that together, Nicolas and Albus would make a trap for the wraith of the Dark Lord. The headmaster sent Hagrid to the vault to collect the fake stone, knowing that he would inevitably make a show for those in the know. The fake stone was to be planted at Hogwarts so as to lure Voldemort out. At the first staff meeting before the school year Albus cheerfully told his professors about the presence of The Stone in Hogwarts and requested them to create a set of defenses around it. He himself made sure so that the protections would not harm anyone – not seriously. It took a couple of sleepless nights, but Albus had personally charmed the Cerberus not to injure anyone who was younger than twenty years old, only scaring them away. The Devil's Snare would restrain without killing because professor Sprout regularly fed it with bovine blood, the keys would issue non-lethal electrical shock, the chess figurines would knock out anyone who tried to pass them and the troll would do the same. The poison vials contained the Draught of Living Death and the flames were also enchanted to put whoever passed them to sleep.

The protections were designed to stall. Albus would always look after Quirrell, and when he couldn't, he'd asked Severus to watch over the poor misguided boy. Unfortunately, Albus, in his quest to redeem Quirrell, has forgotten that Voldemort, despite being quite insane in his later years, was still a man of great intelligence.

One day, not a week from the end of the school year, Albus received a letter from a German confidant about a serious need to talk about a recent development and stating that it was a very grave matter, so much so that the Claudean has come personally to the ministry. He would have Flooed to the castle, the letter said, but unfortunately the Floo network was down for maintenance. Seeing that Quirrell was currently sick and couldn't leave his quarters, Dumbledore alerted Severus and Minerva and immediately took a portkey to the Ministry. However, Claudean wasn't in the Ministry. When Albus finally found him in the Leaky Cauldron three hours later, they quickly found out that someone had somehow forged both the letter to Albus calling him to the Ministry and the letter to Claudean to summon him to Britain and not specifying the place.

Tom had always been a brilliant student.

Quirrell easily distracted both Severus and Minerva (not that it was hard in a castle full of students) and immediately went for the stone. As Albus wasn't in the castle, the obstacles didn't serve any purpose other than to annoy Voldemort. The revered Headmaster felt himself an utter fool that day. The only benefit this fiasco was that now he was sure that Harry had some degree of protection against Tom. If only this knowledge didn't come with the price of Quirrell's life and Harry's innocence. The poor boy was heavily shaken by the whole situation, but didn't show it overtly. The Flamels used the destruction of the fake stone to fade into the background of the wizarding world. Albus knew that he'd never see them again in his lifetime and he doubted that young Harry would either.

Then came the events of this year. No matter what Dumbledore did, no matter where he searched, he could not find the Chamber. The ghosts didn't see anything suspicious, there were no portraits at the attack sites, and the sweep of the castle during the winter holidays was unsuccessful. Whatever or whoever directed the attacks was also elusive. Albus knew that to truly close the Chamber he needed to find the culprit first, and concentrated on this task. Looking back, it probably would have been better if he decided otherwise.

And now, because of his failure, an innocent girl was dead or dying. It was in these moments that Albus felt as old as he really was.

The Headmaster sat stiffly in his chair, waiting for the Weasleys to arrive. They needed to know what happened, as much as he hated to be the one who brought these news. He tiredly cleaned his half-moon glasses and turned to his familiar.

"Whatever should I do, Fawkes?"

A solemn trill was his answer. Albus sighed and almost turned away, but a suddent movement drew his attention. The venerated warlock watched in stupefied surprise as Fawkes suddenly stood, took flight, snatched the sleeping Sorting Hat from its place and vanished in a flash of flame.

"Where are you going, my friend? And why did you need the poor Hat?" Dumbledore rubbed his forehead and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "Alas, I am much too old for these antics."

Approximately an hour later, when he was consoling the sobbing Mrs. Weasley, Andrew McGraffet, the Head Boy of this year, entered the room with a bewildered look on his face.

"Professor? There's a…" He struggled for the right word. "Situation?"

"What happened, Andrew?" The old Mugwump looked at him, secretly hoping that he had any kind of good news. The Head Boy coughed, glancing at the Weasleys, and said:

"Well, it's Moaning Myrtle, sir. She's pestering the professors and saying that Miss Weasley sent her."

"WHAT?!" was the shocked answer of the whole room. Andrew shrugged.

"She says Miss Weasley, her brother, Professor Lockhart and Harry Potter are in her toilet for some reason. Says they need us to get them out of… well, she never quite specified. Oh, and from her wailing Potter is unconscious."

Twenty minutes and not a second longer – that was all it took to retrieve the children and the… slightly unhinged professor. Albus didn't feel particularly sorry about his situation: he'd hired the man specifically to expose him for what he was… well, and because nobody else applied. Being unaware of his previous actions was better than Azkaban, anyway. Unfortunately, Ginny and Harry were another story entirely. Harry was unconscious, and even though the scanning spells showed absolutely no damage to him, it didn't mean that no damage occurred. As evidenced from his lack of clothing and the young form of Fawkes on his chest, the boy was harmed enough that the Fire Rebirth was needed. He must have been almost dead! Well, not surprising, considering the truly titanic dead basilisk near them and the charred book near Harry's arm. Said book still had a fang impaled in it. Miss Weasley was quite inconsolable about being the cause of so many injuries, especially to Harry. After a stern talking-to, she was eventually taken home by her parents. Albus recommended for her to see a Mind Healer to deal with the stress of being possessed and asked the family to be together as much as they could this summer for the sake of their daughter.

Young Mr. Weasley told Albus how they were able to find out where the Chamber was located and what exactly the monster inside was. Dumbledore shook his head in astonishment – Filius was the one who'd checked that toilet, how could such an entrance elude the Charm Master? After the talk, he inspected the sink that contained the entrance and found a subtle concealing ward that worked on everybody who didn't know the location of the Chamber and wasn't a Parselmouth. It was quite ingenious.

Now, all that remained a mystery was what transpired in the Chamber. He could guess, of course, and already had a most probable estimation of those events, but he needed to seek a confirmation. Something only Harry, reluctant to wake up, could give.


	2. Awakening

******Author's note**

Allright, folks. After this chapter some people have complained about how my Hermione is annoying, bossy and insufferable and Harry is a wimp for not standing up to her. I think I need to explain this.

I have not made it secret that I plan to make character development a major part of this story. I've got some major plans for Ron and I told you this. The fact that Harry will be slowly changing as time passes by is kind of obvious. But Hermione... I wanted to make changes in her view of world and behaviour even more drastic in the end compared to how she is now. So I made her slightly more overbearing. Bossiness is the key trait of her personality - not the book obsession, as some would think, and not the respect for authority. As such, it will be the trait that will be subject to change as she grows up. So bear with me, she will gradually tone it down.

As for Harry's seeming passiveness, the reason for this is his relative maturity. He doesn't strike me as a childish person. So he doesn't argue with Hermione when he knows she's right. He may grumble before doing as she asks, but rest assured, if he truly doesn't want to do something, almost nothing will change his mind. Maturity aside, he is one stubborn bastard.

On with the show.

_"When will I be able to do that, Teacher?"_

_"You have not yet even begun your training, and I have been an Archdruid for almost twelve years. To you, I'll say the same thing that I say to every initiate: keep moving forward, never losing the sight of your goal, however difficult it seems to be. Even if the goal is being able to do some flashy tree magic."_

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Awakening**

* * *

******Two days after the Chamber Incident, the Hospital Wing**

Usually Harry woke up in an instant, being asleep one moment and awake the next. This time, however, he came to the waking world slowly, unwilling to let go of the sensation of being slowly rocked, as if he was sleeping on a ship. Harry felt extremely good, but tired. Mentally tired, as if he had been sitting with Hermione again and trying to understand the concepts that usually were not touched until the next year. But also he felt complete. It was a feeling that was completely new to him.

When he finally opened his eyes, he immediately shut them again. _Light. Too much light._ Not risking a peek, Harry checked his other senses. From the softness of the bed and the slight odour of potions in the air he deduced that he was currently in the domain of the resident healer.

___Why would I be here? What happened?_

His memories were reluctant to return to him. He slowly coaxed them, remembering the last day he could recall. Thoughts were moving around in his head as sluggishly as flies in the autumn. It took him a good five minutes to understand what exactly led him to being stranded in care of madam Pomfrey. He slowly rose from the bed and looked around. There were none of the others. Even the corner that was previously occupied by the petrified was empty. That meant he was asleep for more than a day.

Harry was not left gawking at the beds around him for long – Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, laden with potions, and bustled over to his bed. ___I swear that woman has monitoring charms on top of monitoring charms all over the wing so that none of her victims escape her grasp. Not for a lack of trying from the students' side, heh._

"Finally awake, Mr. Potter?" she asked, waving her wand over him, muttering to herself as she did. The boy didn't bother to watch, only moving and breathing deeply when she ordered.

"Evidently," he answered. "For how long…?"

"A bit more than two days. Now don't blink."

Immediately he felt an inexplicable urge to blink.

"How are the others? Ron, Ginny?"

"Both are fine. Miss Weasley left with her family yesterday."

He nodded, relived. And blinked.

"Mr. Potter!"

"Sorry, sorry. What kind of test needs me to stop blinking, anyway?" Harry grumbled. She harrumphed.

"The ones that will show if you will be allowed to leave faster than in a month."

He barely managed to resist rolling his eyes.

"Fred and George will bust me out," he declared, smiling slightly in the remembrance of the Operation "Grand Theft Harry" they pulled the previous summer.

"They will do no such thing if they want me to fix them the next time some pranked girl hexes their privates off. You can blink."

He winced.___Ouch. Poor blokes. What did they do that warranted that? And who the hell is the girl that I will avoid at any cost for all my remaining schooling?_

"Well, everything seems to be in order so far, but you can never be too sure."

Harry groaned.

Nearly an hour later madam Pomfrey, seemingly satisfied with the number of tests she'd done, released him from her iron grip. She told Harry that the dinner will start soon, so he should go down to the Main Hall. The boy stayed near the Hospital wing for a minute, gathering his bearings and summarizing everything that happened to him since he entered the Chamber.

___First: I encountered and killed the Nearly-Bodiless-Tom. Which really was a memory of Voldemort sealed in his school diary. An evil megalomaniac with a diary? What was Voldemort doing during his Dark Lord 101 seminars?_

___Second: I've killed a sodding' basilisk with a sword and a phoenix! Nearly died in the process, but that's a nuance._

___Third: woke up in the domain of the Medi-Menace and was tortured by said Menace for more than an hour. Note to self: next time, don't – seriously, don't – be cheeky or contradict her on anything._

___So, the question is: what happens now?_

Harry was then distracted from his thoughts by a truly monstrous grumble in his stomach. He chuckled and set off to the Great Hall with the clear intent to pig out worse than Ron who for some unfathomable reason skipped a meal. Unfortunately, he was stopped about halfway there by professor Dumbledore.

"Harry! Hello, my boy, it's good to see you in good health," the Headmaster said jovially.

"Thank you, sir," Harry answered with a smile.

"I would like to talk to you about the details of your latest adventure, if you have a minute," Albus asked, receiving a shrug in reply.

"Fine with me, sir."

"Excellent. Now, if you would follow me," he turned around and went in the opposite direction from the Great Hall. The boy looked down the stairs mournfully, able to hear the sounds of the beginning dinner, not to mention the smell that caused his stomach to state loud and clear that it was not very happy with him. Sighing, he went to follow the Headmaster.

After a few minutes they found themselves in a familiar study. Just as the last time, Fawkes sat at his perch in his KFC form. Professor Dumbledore sat behind the table and gestured for Harry to sit on the opposite chair, which he did. Fawkes trilled softly, and the youth somehow got the impression that the bird wants him to pet him, which Harry to the phoenix's obvious delight did.

"Lemon drop?" The Headmaster asked, his eyes twinkling as he held out the bowl, and after a slight hesitation he took the offered sweet. The Headmaster looked at him in astonishment.

"In all my time here, only five people took one."

Harry popped the sweet in his mouth and shrugged. He needed a sweet to somewhat sate his hunger, as his gut told him that this was going to be a lo-o-ong talk. And the lemon drops weren't that bad – true, the boy's mouth couldn't decide if the object inside of it was too sour or too sweet, but it wasn't really unpleasant. He briefly wondered if one could get a sugar high from a couple of these drops, then thought what it pertained for the Headmaster, who consumed them in vast numbers. The mental picture of Albus Dumbledore under a sugar high caused Harry to immediately press an emergency stop button on that train of thought.

"So, Harry, after listening to the tales that mister and miss Weasley shared with me and looking at the Chamber of Secrets, I'd like to hear your side of this story."

Harry collected himself quickly and slowly began to speak. He told him about the beginning of the investigation that he, Ron and Hermione started and about their daring infiltration of Slytherin common room (which certainly amused Albus, though he didn't show it aside from the pronounced twinkling in his eyes). Harry told him about Hermione's deductions and his own lucky guess about the location of the entrance. By the force of habit, he left any mention of the entity that was piggy-backing in his head out of the conversation.

After Harry started retelling the events that transpired in the Chamber, Fawkes, still in his lap, returned the favour and when he was overwhelmed with the memories and struggled to speak, the bird softly trilled, lifting his spirits.

In the end, when the story was finally completed, Dumbledore grew silent. For a minute nobody made a sound (trills from Fawkes notwithstanding). Then the Headmaster spoke:

"Harry, down in the Chamber you has shown incredible bravery and loyalty, the simple fact that Fawkes came to you proves that. And in doing so, you saved an innocent life, not to mention foiling a plot against Hogwarts – and me. Once again, you have proven to be incredibly resourseful when it is needed. Well done, my boy. Well done."

For the youth in question to hear the sincere praise from the only mentor figure in Harry's life was very touching. He lowered his head and blushed, starting to blink.___Damn those bugs__._ After a couple of seconds, though, he lifted his head, trying to understand the headmaster's statement.

"A plot against you, sir?" he inquired. Headmaster sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Unfortunately, Harry, I have reasons to believe that the one of the main reasons of the strange occurrences of this year is my banishment from Hogwarts."

The boy stared at him for a couple of seconds before he understood.

"Malfoy?"

"I cannot prove that, but several memories that were provided to me, along with some precious common sense, tell me that Lucius Malfoy was the instigator of the plot," Professor Dumbledore replied heavily. It was with a titanic effort that Harry held himself from growling.

"So there is nothing we can do, sir?" he grounded. Albus shook his head.

"Alas, nothing overt can be done at this point. I've managed to get Mr. Malfoy off the Board of Governors, but otherwise he got off clean."

"Very well. Can I go, sir? Maybe I'll be able to eat at least some dessert before the dinner's end," this statement was accompanied by another grumble of Harry's stomach, which made Dumbledore chuckle.

"Of course; by the way, you can visit the kitchens. I'm sure our house-elves wouldn't mind in the slightest if you ask them to give you some snacks."

"Kitchens?" he perked up. Dumbledore chuckled again and explained how to get to them. Smiling, Harry bid both him and Fawkes good evening and left to look for Ron or kitchens – whichever he stumbled upon first.

___Food now, pondering on the question of the Universe, Life and Otherworldly Crap later._

Harry was in luck – there still was some time until the feast ended. When he entered the Great Hall, Harry immediately started to look for Ron and Hermione. His search didn't take long: they were both rising from the Gryffindor table to run towards him. He felt his mouth stretch in a wide smile as he walked to meet them. Hermione went at him like an avalanche goes at an old shack, tackling him and babbling something happily about his success in the Chamber of Secrets.

Honestly, she wanted to punch them for not going to the teachers and deciding to face the basilisk by themselves. But despite her anger at them for being **boys** she just couldn't bring herself to it. So hugs it was.

Afterwards, when they sat down at the table, Hermione was visibly bouncing with the urge to shake the story out of him, which frankly made him a bit warm inside – it's unbelievable how much he had missed her. Still, he couldn't help but gulp at her x-ray-like stare. Madam Pomfrey was very vague in her description of the events that transpired in the Chamber when telling Hermione what happened, and the holes in the story she's been told were glaringly obvious to her. Even Ron's story was unfortunately incomplete. But it was not the time – most of the students in the Great Hall were staring at Harry and nearly everybody at the Gryffindor table were obviously either waiting for him – or anyone else for that matter – to clear the situation out or doing so themselves in the most famous ritual of Hogwarts: gossiping. Harry, to Hermione's greatest surprise, didn't seem perturbed by it in the slightest. He didn't pay the whispers and stares any mind and currently was inhaling his pancakes with jam. ___Wait a bit, jam?_ She frowned slightly in confusion. ___Harry has never liked , well, I was petrified for a rather long time, wasn't I? That reminds me: I need to ask Ron and Harry about everythingthat we were supposed to learn in the time I've missed. Fortunately I had studied ahead and probably won't need to revise too much whatever I missed in the short time before the exams._

Immediately after the quick dinner Hermione dragged Harry and Ron to an empty classroom. She closed the door and performed a standard silencing spell that she had read about in the tome "Practical spells for the practical wizards". Then she turned back to the bemused-looking Harry and said in a flat voice:

"Tell me everything."

For a second Harry definitely wanted to crack a joke but after looking at her he grew serious, sighed and sat on the nearest table. And tell he did.

Periodically Hermione had to stop him and ask for details – he obviously wanted to spare her them, but though the sentiment was certainly appreciated, she wanted none of it. In the end, when he finally stopped, they sat in silence for a while – she digested the things she's been told while Ron and Harry waited for her judgement. And after a minute of silent contemplation, she finally voiced her thoughts:

"I love you guys. I do, but you are this close..." she held up her thumb and index finger, less than an inch apart. "…to getting strangled! Harry, Ron, what have you been thinking?!"

Both of them recoiled when Hermione directed her best Death Glare in their direction. When she was assured they were sufficiently cowed, she sighed and shook my head.

"I leave you alone for a ******month** and immediately you go to face a basilisk. A BASILISK! Well…" She looked at them and allowed herself a small smile. "I'll just have to stick with you all the time from now on, won't I?"

For a second they just stared at each other. Then all at the same time they burst into a heartfelt laughter and all was right with the world once again.

The remaining time before the summer holidays was… strangely anti-climatic. The exams were cancelled, to Hermione's sincere disappointment - something which Harry and Ron teased her about mercilessly, though they stopped when it became **glaringly** obvious (literally, that girl probably could win a glare-off with Snape) that they were in danger of crossing the line. When the time came to choose the additional subjects, she dragged both boys to her usual table in the library and patiently talked to them on their choice subjects. After a heated and long discussion Harry tiredly leaned back on his chair and proposed to ask the older students, who had already completed their OWLs and could give some realistic advice. Frankly, Hermione was surprised that he had thought of that (and she gave herself a mental kick for not thinking about it herself and only consulting the books). After a while, when she found a couple of sixth-year Ravenclaw girls and interviewed them, she had her answers. So when Hermione met up with Harry and Ron (who were arguing whether they could trust the information they got from Fred and George), she told them in a voice that allowed no room for counter arguments:

"We will take Arithmancy, Care for the Magical Creatures and Study of the Ancient Runes."

They stopped their discussion and sat down. Harry motioned for her to do the same and give him her notes on the different subjects. After she obliged, he read aloud, inserting his comments on the way:

"'Ancient Runes: must have' – underlined twice. 'Runes are needed for an obscene amount of jobs – from enchanting toys to curse-breaking'... 'Subject is said to be difficult, though very logical – to truly exceed in it you need language skills or a lot of work'. I wonder if knowing Parseltongue qualifies as 'language skills'?" He glanced up at Ron who smothered a snicker. "Nah."

They both rolled their eyes and continued:

"'Arithmancy: it studies the magical properties of numbers, but more importantly, it is the basis of spell-crafting'. Wait, you mean we will be able to create our own spells? That's awesome! Oh, wait." He raised his eyebrows at the post script. "'The most difficult subject in Hogwarts'… 'Primary requirement: to be good at maths'. Well, I was rather good in the primary – that is, until my Uncle got wind that I was doing better than his precious Dudders and beat me up. After that I never repeated that mistake. Oh, well."

Hermione stared at him in abject horror.___He was beaten for doing well in class? That's… that's… blasphemy!_

Pointedly refusing to look at both Hermione and Ron, who stared at him with the same wide-eyed expression he got when he faced something extremely unsettling, Harry coughed and went on:

"'Care of Magical Creatures: exactly what it says on the tin. It's a study of various beasts with magical origins, from pixie to dragons. From what students say, the course is relatively easy and mostly practical'. Now that gets me really interested."

Ron perked up while Hermione rolled her eyes. _Trust the boys to choose the easiest subjects._

"'Divination: extremely easy, though completely illogical subject'. Hermione, we are wizards – 'illogical' is up there in the job description. Or requirements, I guess. We daily tell the laws of Physics to sit down and shut up, for Merlin's sake! Nevertheless… 'The teacher is most likely a fraud and during each lesson predicts a violent death of a currently present student. Why she does it is unclear'. Well, it sure sounds like a crappy course."

"And a creepy one." Ron grumbled while scratching his knee.

"Are you sure that your information is correct?" Harry asked, smiling slightly at Ron's mutter.

She nodded. He hummed and continued to read.

"'Muggle Studies: supposedly, the course dedicated to learning the culture and technical advances of the Muggle world. In reality, the course is vastly outdated and taught by a pure-blood who wouldn't know what a TV is if it was dropped on his head'. Whoa, touched a nerve, didn't it?"

She silently sent him a glare. Harry shrugged and looked back at the paper.

"So… Muggle Studies and divination are definitely out – I already know enough about muggles, and though knowing the future sure would be awesome, I'd be better off learning it on my own. Care sounds interesting, I'm in. I think Hagrid will be glad to give us a few pointers. Now, about Arithmancy and Runes I'm not so sure…" he trailed off and looked at Hermione, who intensified her glare. He leaned back slightly and nodded:

"Care, Arithmancy and Runes. No objections."

She moved her glare at Ron. He also gulped and agreed.

___It's good to be heard.__ - _Hermione thought smugly.

In the evening of the same day Hagrid returned to Hogwarts, to the joy of the Gryffindors and the staff. As soon as Harry saw the smoke that was coming from the hut near the forest, the trio of friends immediately went over for a visit. After the first heartfelt greetings they were ushered inside and presented with the traditional three huge tankards of tea and a plate with rock cakes. While Ron and Hermione were telling Hagrid the whole story behind the Chamber of Secrets, Harry was looking at the Keeper of Grounds and Keys with widened eyes.

Hagrid looked like shit.

An enormous pile of shit, granted, but that only added to the effect.

His beard was not as bushy as it had been before, his eyes lacked that characteristic cheer of his, he seemed a lot thinner than before – heck, compared to the Hagrid Harry met two years before, this version looked positively gaunt!

"Hagrid," Harry breathed, interrupting Hermione's rant about his recklessness, "What did they do to you?"

There was silence.

"Azkaban," was the quiet, foreboding answer, "Is the hell on earth. The guards," Hagrid shuddered, "Dementors – they are horrid creatures. Their presence causes you to relive your worst memories. They say a dementor feeds on happiness and joy."

The giant of a man shook his head.

"Those who are imprisoned in Azkaban go mad within a year or two. I heard them screaming sometimes."

The trio was at a loss for words. In the silence Hagrid suddenly sighed and smiled at them tiredly.

"But enough of that. I heard you don't have exams this year?" Rolling their eyes at the obvious attempt to change the topic, the three friends nevertheless started to talk about the lack of exams, the boys mostly keeping themselves from making smart comments.

The last few days before Harry's departure to Durzkaban, as he started to call it, were promising to be extremely boring for all three of them. Well, it was more like two weeks of absolutely nothing to do. The exams were cancelled, flying was out, playing chess with Ron was not as exciting as it once was (when it came to the chess, Ron was a bloody genius, while both Harry and Hermione sucked big time. Playing and losing was only interesting to a certain point). The Voice was still silent, and Harry had to admit he kind of missed it. So the last five days of the school year found the inseparable three in the library.

After a short research session conducted by Hermione they have found a rather easy charm that was laconically and clearly named "Oculus Magi". Yep, magical vision. Its function was to show to you different wards and enchanted objects together with an approximation of what the enchantment was. What completely sold it to Harry was the simple fact that the sustained, long-term version was used on monocles or glasses!

After Hermione learned both the sustained and non-sustained versions (the latter was cast on the eyes), she helped the boys to learn it. Immediately after that Harry cast the spell on his spectacles and looked around, mystified. He blinked attempting to get used to the change. Some objects in the surrounding area seemed to be surrounded by pastel-coloured bubbles. Around Hermione and Ron he saw a slightly pulsating aura-like glow. A little exploration showed that some of the books were encased in bubbles, which, according to the magical atlas, signified preserving enchantments of some sort. Harry immediately remembered the screaming book in the Restricted section. This memory brought forth an idea that made him to want to cackle. If he wasn't afraid that Madam Pince would throw him out of her library for the noise, he would have. That lady was scary. He immediately told Hermione and Ron about his idea and after their reluctant approval was gleefully rubbing his hands together.

That evening, the first Restricted Section Raid was conducted.

Well, you know how it always goes – you have that absolutely brilliant idea that has a potential to bring you profit if executed right, and the first test-drive, so to speak, ends up being **craptacular**.

"SHITE!"

Harry ran out of the library faster than Snape who saw a bottle of shampoo. The wailing and swearing of the books that sounded at his back just spurred him on to run faster. It appeared that all the books in the Restricted Section were specifically enchanted so that the action of opening the book outside the confinement of the shelves triggered the alarm and summoned madam Pince and/or Filch. Oh, well.

The next day Harry, Ron and Hermione developed a new strategy, which the former implemented with great success in the same night. The plan was simple and brilliant – if the book doesn't wish to be read on the table and wants to stay on the shelf, then transfigure the shelf into something resembling a table!

The second Restricted Section Raid was a success. Harry was able to read the book by opening it within the confines of the shelf. The other books were levitated from it and placed on the floor - they couldn't make a racket if they were not opened. Wanting to understand his condition (which, he suspected, was healed by whatever Fawkes has done to him, as it wasn't like the Voice to be silent for more than a few hours) Harry looked around for some books on magical neurology or psychiatry or something like that, but unfortunately the only book he was able to find on the topic was "The Magicked Mind". In it he found references to the different ways the mind could be influenced by different kinds of magic – nearly all of them were previously unknown to him. The Legilimency and Occlumency (both of which he resolved to learn sometime later), compulsion charms, different mind-influencing wards, a short topic on the Unforgivable curses, a long chapter on the side-effects of self-transfiguration (especially Animagism), and rather more dark branches of magic such as Necromancy (which sometimes made its practitioners nearly emotionless) and blood magic. The latter drew his interest – according to the chapter 'Blood transformations', psychological effects of blood rituals that involved the blood of other species tended to have unusual side-effects. As an example, author wrote down the story of an anonymous fifteenth century duellist who wished to have the magical resistance of a troll. So he learned a bit of blood magic and in a ritual absorbed the blood of a mountain troll. He succeeded, in a way – from that moment on, he could shrug off minor hexes and stunners, but judging by the book, he absorbed more than that. He died – amusingly – by running head first into an ancient oak.

Harry closed the book with a disgruntled sigh. Unfortunately, it seemed that when it came to understanding the stuff involving the contents of his lightning-scarred, messy-haired, spectacle-eyed head he was on my own.

******Leaving feast**

"Harry, stop moping. It doesn't suit you," Hermione said in a slightly irritated tone. The boy in question grimaced.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to spend the whole bloody summer with the Dursleys..."

"Language, Harry. And you will have to spend only a month – the Weasleys return after that and you already have the permission to stay with them. So chin up and eat, you didn't touch your food and the train leaves in an hour. You don't want to be hungry for the whole trip."

He smiled at her and exchanged fond looks with Ron.___I can't believe how much I missed her all the time she was petrified; you truly do begin to value what you had only after you have already lost it. Now where did ____**that**____ thought come from?_

Harry's musings were interrupted as professor Dumbledore, who stood up with the obvious intention to make a speech. When the students grew silent, he smiled and said:

"Another year at Hogwarts has come to an end! I congratulate everyone on passing their tests and say goodbye to those who are dining the last time at this hall as students. I sincerely wish you all well in your future endeavours and remind you that even after leaving Hogwarts, those who ask for help here will always receive it. Now, I say to those who will return here after the summer: try to empty your head in these two short months so that you can stuff it with knowledge once again in the next year! Thank you."

Many cheered, even some of the Slytherins, who usually were much more reserved than that. Ron shook his head.

"Well, I certainly plan to empty my head. From what Bill has told me, Egypt is great for relaxation when you need it. The wizarding part of the country is, at least."

Harry nodded absently. Yesterday, an owl from Mrs. Weasley has delivered the letter about their lottery winning. The whole family decided to go to Egypt to visit their brother, Bill. Harry was glad for his best friend, but it would be a long summer until he could escape the Dursleys again. He sighed dejectedly and shook his head.___Hermione's right – I need to try to stuff my stomach enough for the whole ride. It's kind of surprising that the Voice isn't nagging at me about it._

Harry paused with his fork on the way to the mouth.

It was two weeks since the adventure in the Chamber. The Voice was still silent, which could mean only one thing – it was gone. The question was – was it a bad or a good sign?


	3. Summer of Wonder

_"Sirius..."_

_"What? I totally told you that you will like it!"_

_"That secrecy oath was worth it. So worth it."_

_"Hah! I said the same thing when I was here the first time!"_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Summer of Wonder**

* * *

Summers at Privet Drive were always the same, as were the autumns, winters and springs. Not that Petunia Dursley was complaining, of course – the stable life she'd been living suited her just fine, thank you very much! That summer so far had seemed to be continuing this tradition.

Dudley finished his school year, though he barely passed the exams. But she couldn't blame him for that! The poor boy had been complaining about his headache for a week before the exams! Unfortunately no medicine Petunia gave him could quell his pain. It was good that the migranes finally went away by themselves by the beginning of holidays.

Vernon was proud of his son of course: but he was becoming more and more agitated, as the date when their nephew would return grew nearer. Frankly, Petunia was worried about her husband. Whilst he was an upstanding citizen, when it came to his nephew he became unreasonable. Certainly, she held no love for the no-good freak, but his escape a year ago showed that he had friends and what's more– that his freaky friends were ready to go to certain lengths to help him! So in the evening before the feared day she decided to talk to Vernon.

After Dudley went to sleep, Petunia told Vernon, who was currently glaring at the calendar like it was his mortal enemy:

"We need to talk about our nephew."

He grunted and glanced at her shrewdly. "What about the freak?"

She sighed and told him about her reservations about the boy and his friends.

"Ha!" He snorted with contempt. "I'm not afraid of a bunch of snot-nosed freaks. They can't do anything to me – they're forbidden from using their freakishness during the holidays."

"True," she conceded, "but what would you call that monstrosity of a car of theirs?" Petunia parried. "And even if they aren't able to hurt us, then maybe they can call an adult, who this time will not only give Duddikins a pig tail, but turn him into pig completely!"

That thought gave Vernon pause. After considering it, he grumbled: "Fine. As long as the freak does nothing and keeps out of my sight I will keep away from him."

"That will be reasonable," was the reply. She turned to leave the kitchen when she remembered something that made her blood chill.

"Vernon, but what about Marge? She said she'll visit us, and who knows what will happen if she annoys the freak!"

Vernon grunted, unamused by the very thought. "I'll think of something."

******Next day, Hogwarts Express, somewhere in the middle of Scotland**

The trip to London was eventless, the traditional visit from Malfoy notwithstanding. Insults were exchanged, threats were made, the ponce left. All in all, it went as usual. Well, other than Harry hexing him out of the car with a slightly underpowered Depulso to the crotch. The expression Malfoy had was… priceless. After Draco's rather ungraceful exit (there might have been some hopping involved) there were no more distractions.

Ron planned the summer and ate chocolate frogs in quantities that would make anyone not familiar with him to double-take.

Hermione planned the summer around her homework and pestered both boys about their own essays.

Harry quietly dreaded the summer and did everything he could to steer off the topic – unsuccessfully.

Finally, the ride was over.

He stepped from the train and inhaled deeply. That was a mistake he immediately regretted, as he started coughing. There was something rather pleasant about the smell Hogwarts Express' engine emitted, but Harry wouldn't recommend breathing too deeply in its immediate vicinity. After he regained control of his lungs, he exchanged warm goodbyes with Hermione, Ron and everyone who was still friendly to him during the "Heir of Slytherin" phase. Sadly, it was a rather short list. In fact, it only consisted of his dorm-mates, the Gryffindor Quidditch team and the two Ravenclaws Hermione roped as her study partners. After that was over with, Harry had no choice but to head towards the muggle section of the station.

Harry exited platform 9¾ and scanned the crowd; it only took a couple of seconds to spot the Dursleys. It wasn't hard. Even Aunt Petunia, who was a fairly unnoticeable person in comparison to Uncle Vernon or Dudley, stuck out like a sore thumb with her pinched facial expression. The reason for the nearly palpable distaste was standing near the rich-looking couple who, could only be the Grangers. Mrs. Weasley, in her worn dress, was talking to them a mile a minute and they were listening with interest. Harry smiled in wry amusement. No doubt Aunt Petunia was seething that obviously successful and normal people are willingly associating with the so-called freaks. The disgust on her face was almost worth the fallout that he would no doubt experience when she took her anger out on him. He rolled his eyes and strolled towards the Dursleys.

"Uncle, Aunt, Dudley. I'm here," he greeted them. Aunt Petunia blinked at the formality.

"Nephew," she answered. Uncle Vernon simply grunted, turned and walked away without saying a word. Dudley was also silent through the short exchange. Harry shrugged and followed Vernon.

With little difficulty he loaded his trunk and Hedwig's cage in the car (Harry let the snowy owl fly to Privet Drive on her own), he sat on the backseat and stared out of the window whilst his uncle drove the shiny vehicle. The car was obviously new and Vernon obviously delighted at driving it at the maximum speed he dared. For the wizard, the speed meant the uncomfortable feeling of motion sickness due to the constant slight accelerations and decelerations, bumps on the road and the stink of Dursleys, already imprinted in the seats. The poor boy barely made it to Privet drive without emptying his stomach on the pristine leather seats. After the car stopped, Harry wobbled out of the backdoor as fast as he could and just stood there for a while, trying with all his might to stop his breakfast from re-introducing itself to the world. After the urge to eject his digestive system stilled a bit, he turned toward the car and grabbed his belongings. Thankfully the Dursleys had already entered the house without attempting to confiscate his trunk. Harry blinked in surprise and struggled to his room.

It was later that evening, that he realized their new strategy – ignoring him as much as they could, other than giving out general chores like cooking and gardening. That suited Harry just fine – live and let live was a wonderful way of life. Especially so considering the most probable alternative.

The only minus was that he was critically bored. Talking to Hedwig was a reprieve, of course – his beautiful owl always gave him the impression that she understood everything he said – but it could only occupy so much time. He'd done his homework – to his (exaggerated) chagrin and Hermione's glee, which they expressed in their letters. Despite the neutral behaviour of his relatives Harry was longing for the moment when he would be able to return to the Wizarding World again.

It seemed his silent prayers were heard. On the morning of sixth day of Le Comte de Monte-Potter's imprisonment in Durzkaban Uncle Vernon called him downstairs. He mentally sighed and came down, expecting the relative peace come to an end. His uncle was standing near the kitchen door and frowning. Thankfully for Harry's ears Vernon's face was only a slight shade of red - a three at most on the Vernon-Richter Scale.

"Boy!"

"Yes, uncle?" he asked politely, schooling his features into a mask of polite interest.

"My sister Marge is coming in a week. She will not suffer your presence."

"What do you mean, sir?" Harry asked, his insides twisting. ___Were they going to imprison him in his room and take away his things again? If so, he was out of here- and screw Dumbledore and his bloody opinions!_

"Exactly that, boy. You will leave us the day before she comes – go live with your freak friends or something, I don't care."

Harry nodded, brainstorming the ways he could milk this situation for all it's worth. After a moment, Harry had an idea. He carefully began:

"Uncle, unfortunately my friends' house is full as it is – they have guests from Egypt," he couldn't just let them know about Weasleys' absence and waste a valuable blackmail tool, now could he? "But I know of a place that will suit me just fine. For visiting, I will need your written permission to go there."

Vernon glared at him in suspicion.

"Why do you need it?"

"The place is a village near my school, populated exclusively by my kind. Students up from the third year are allowed there with the permission from their guardians."

Uncle Vernon nodded absently, scratched his back and grunted.

"Alright. Fine, I'll sign it."

Harry nodded politely and went back to his room. Only when he closed the door behind him did he allow his lips to curve into a wicked smile.

___Ah, Sorting hat. Slytherin, you say?_

******A Week Later, Durzkaban**

Harry gathered his things and smiled, mentally chanting:___I'm gonna leave the Dursleys! I'm gonna leave the Dursleys! Yay! Catchy, isn't it? Of course it is!_With a bright grin on his face, he turned to Hedwig, who had just returned from her hunt.

"You ready to leave?"

She hooted and bobbed her head up and down. The boy laughed and fondly petted her. She preened under the affection.

"Who's my girl?" he cooed. "Who's the smartest and prettiest owl in all the world?" Hedwig rolled her eyes at her master's antics and gently nipped his finger. He stood up from the desk and stretched his back. It seemed to him in that moment that nothing could spoil his good spirits. Of course, Fate decided to ever so gently remind him not to tempt her even in his thoughts.

As Harry descended down to the first floor, his trunk in right hand, Hedwig's cage in the left, he heard a truly unholy sound.

Ripper's bark.

Ripper was Marge's dog, and unfortunately the bulldog shared its owner's rather unpleasant personality. More than once during the times of Harry's crappy childhood he needed a tree sanctuary from the bulldog's jaws.

If Ripper was there, it meant that Marge was in the vicinity as well. She was expected the next day, but that was probably the exact reason she came today. She was just obnoxious like that.

The boy crept – very, very quietly – to the doors to the kitchen and listened. Ripper's barks clearly were echoed from the kitchen, as well as Aunt Petunia's high-pitched voice, periodically interrupted by the lower, but just as annoying nasal tones of Aunt Marge. Ripper was undoubtedly the most likely subject of their argument. Harry smiled and, after verifying that the outside was clear of hostiles, made to leave the house.

Suddenly, Ripper's barks turned high-pitched. Harry froze for a moment. The barks were so much closer than before. He stopped and cursed mentally. ___The thrice-damned dog smelled me!_

"What is it, Rippie?" Marge's voice came through the door. Harry shook himself out of his stupor and opened the front door - fully intending to make a break for it.

"Boy!"

_So much for an unnoticeable escape!_ He sighed and turned to the side, glaring at the large woman's posterior with undisguised contempt.

"Yes, Aunt Marge?"

"Where are you going?" she demanded, pulling back Ripper, who was nearly frothing at the sight of its favourite chew toy. Suddenly, Harry felt an undeniable impulse to push her buttons. Already on-edge from the sudden appearance of the miserable excuse for a human being that was Marge, he obeyed this urge without a second's thought.

"Somewhere else. There's a village near the elite school I attend," he emphasized the word 'elite'. She blinked, looking suddenly bewildered.

"St. Brutus?"

"No, the one my parent's enrolled me in," he said with a snort.

"Your parents were useless drunks, layabouts and vagabonds! They wouldn't have the money to pay for a good institution, if any at all!" she snarled. Harry noticed Aunt Petunia's pale face behind her and gave a mocking laugh.

"Hah! My mother was a brilliant student that could have any job she wanted, and my father was **rich**! In my trust fund I have more money than you will ever see in your life! And the Family Vault…" he smirked. "Well. Picture Aladdin's cave," he leant forwards, his eyes gleaming. "Then quadruple it," Harry's grin was positively feral as he sniffed the air theatrically, channelling his inner Malfoy. "Now, I must be off. The stench of jealousy in here is positively choking me."

He was turning to the door when Ripper finally escaped Marge's hands, which were shaking in fury. The little hellspawn of a mutt immediately ran towards him, barking like mad and with spit flying everywhere in the vicinity. Then it jumped– surprisingly high considering its short legs.

Harry didn't think. He just reacted.

A single spinning kick was all it took.

The damn dog flew from him with a high-pitched whine that was almost covered by the shrieks both women produced. He shrugged and with a muttered "Always wanted to do that," left the house, closing the door with a loud bang.

He strolled down the street, heading to the park, where he could safely summon the Knight Bus without anyone noticing. Ron mentioned that it was a rather safe and cheap mode of transportation when he asked about a way to get to the Leaky Cauldron. Of course, Harry could go to London as a muggle or use the Floo in the local post office, but he didn't want to sit in a muggle bus with a trunk, and he hated Floo with a passion despite only using it twice, so the Knight Bus it was.

Unfortunately, there was a company of seven kids a couple of years older than him hanging around, so he had to find another place to summon the Bus. On the other hand, he didn't particularly felt like walking, so he just sat on the nearby swings, gazing at nothing in particular, heavy in thought.

His outburst wasn't like him.

It was nothing like him at all.

It was more in the spirit of the Voice's suggestions when someone like Snape or Malfoy started to insult him or his friends. Its hissed words were usually some variation of "Don't take their shit lying down," or "Your words are your weapons. Use them". Even the things Harry said were very much like what it'd say if it were in his place.

So what did it mean for him?

The Voice was silent. In all likeliness it was silent forever. Pomfrey did mutter something about Fawkes healing Harry. Maybe – just maybe – it was a side effect? Was the Voice merely washed away by the phoenix's magic like a spider's web was washed away by a stream of water? Or was it somehow… reabsorbed into Harry?

The boy in question hissed at that thought. The Voice did allude a couple of times that it used to be a part of him. Taking into consideration the circumstances behind its creation it was a very probable, nearly certain theory. Now, if Fawkes healed him, then he could have somehow knitted together the two halves of his soul – one relatively unblemished and pure, the other slightly unhinged by the things Voldemort did to it in the effort to create a Harry-shaped cucumber. If so, then theoretically hecould have received a bit of its personality. The question was – was this good or not?

Harry stopped that train of thought and looked up. It was already past twelve and the teens that were in the park earlier had left. He stood up and stretched, picking up his trunk and determinately walking to the road. Upon reaching the road and concluding that no one was in sight Harry held out his wand arm and immediately jumped away when a purple monstrosity masquerading as a bus appeared right in front of him with a nasty screeching of breaks. He calmed his rapid breathing- carefully taking his hand away from his heart and lifted his trunk, which he'd dropped in his fright. He stepped towards the open door.

___Hopefully, this will be better than the Floo._ He thought.

******10 minutes later**

"'Safe mode of transportation', my arse! I'll pick Floo over the Fright Bus any day!" Harry groaned. He was standing near the Leaky Cauldron on wobbly feet. He felt the bruise forming on his brow– a result of Ernie-the-Blind-Speed-Freak's driving was a radical disagreement between the seat in front of Harry and his head.

Once his capability to know his left from his right and up from down was restored, Harry entered the dingy pub. It was nearly empty – besides Tom, the toothless and bald owner, a couple of shady figures in the background and three witches quietly conversing on the table by the wall, there was no one there. The boy walked to Tom, who was almost reverently polishing an antique-looking glass.

"Do you have a spare room?"

"Of course – an attic room is empty right now, if you want it?" Tom answered in a monotone without so much as looking up.

"I'll take it. How much until the end of the summer?" Harry asked, taking his purse from the trunk.

"Until the end of the summer, you say?" Tom finally looked up and couldn't help but double take at the sight of his scar. Harry held himself from rolling his eyes and waited for an answer.

"Huh… from you, my boy, it will be five galleons– daily breakfast included," Tom replied after a pause. The boy slightly lifted his eyebrow, but didn't ask.___He probably will get a free advertisement out of it._

"Very well. Here you go, five galleons. Now, where to?"

Tom took the coins and walked to the staircase, gesturing for Harry to follow. The room that was showed to him was obviously old– the furniture looked positively ancient – but it was in relatively good condition, and Harry honestly thought old-fashioned rooms to be cosier, although maybe it was just his love for Hogwarts talking. Tom left after telling to call him if anything else was needed, and Harry proceeded to make himself comfortable.

Later in the day, he wandered down to Diagon Alley, deciding that a visit Gringotts, was in order before going to the shops.

After withdrawing a moderate amount of money he asked the goblin accompanying him, Sharpshard, about an accounting of his belongings. As much as he enjoyed telling Marge about his so-called Aladdin's cave, he honestly had no idea what he had in his accounts. The goblin shrugged indifferently and told him to ask a teller, which he did. Upon hearing this request the teller stared at him for a moment and inquired:

"Did you not get your monthly financial statement?"

Then it was Harry's turn to stare. "I'm supposed to be receiving financial statements?" he asked flatly.

The teller frowned – a scary sight. "Yes, all the owners of a Gringotts' vault receive monthly updates on the status of their holdings. If you did not receive our owls, then something is truly amiss."

"Indeed," he frowned as well. Not as scary as a goblin frown, mind you, but it wasn't intended to be. The teller – the plaque on his table read 'Hookslash' – drummed on the desk with his claws and stood up.

"Mister Potter, I will make the needed inquires. If you would return here tomorrow, I will have the answer to this mystery. Gringotts prides itself on the fairness to all of its customers and I will see that this pride will not be revealed as a delusion."

Harry nodded and after wishing the teller a good day (at which he scowled and didn't answer – strange, that) and left the bank.

He wandered down the Alley, not knowing for sure what to do. One thing was certain – the Alley was a place filled to the brim with magic, and he could and probably would spend all the remaining five-plus-change weeks exploring it (and the numerous side alleys) and not even make a dent! So after a moment of consideration and glancing around in childish wonder of the "where shall I go first?" sort, Harry decided to randomly choose three to four shops a day and search for anything interesting inside. He grinned widely and looked at "Chutter's Charmed Chests".

Life was definitely interesting.

******The next day, Gringotts**

"Mister Potter. I have good news, bad news and news that may be either good or bad," Hookslash announced as he dropped a large pile of documents on his desk with a loud "thud". Harry scratched his head and sighed.

"Start with the bad."

Goblin grinned. If his frown was scary, his grin was downright terrifying. Harry briefly wondered if goblin teeth are naturally shark-like or if they actually sharpened them to that razor sharp point.

"Bad news it is. Though the Potter family vaults are as filled with gold, jewels and other assorted heirlooms as they were before, the lands and other properties that once were owned by your family have either been sold or, as is the case with the Potter family manor, in a state of extreme disrepair."

The boy did a double-take. He, of course, has already deduced that his family was fairly well off, judging by the amount in his trust vault (the fact that he even had a 'trust vault' was a rather big clue in itself), but a manor? Lands?

"Pardon me," he said slowly, rubbing his forehead. "You said... lands?"

The goblin grimaced. "They were mostly sold in the time of war – our records indicate that the money raised was redirected to the Dumbledore vault. My guess would be that they were used to fund the war - particularly the Order of the Phoenix." Answering the unspoken query, he clarified: "The Order was the Dumbledore's vigilante group, supposedly it was strictly need-to-know. Naturally, everyone knew."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind working furiously as he comprehended the information.

"And the good news?"

Hookslash nodded at the stack of paper he had brought.

"The investments your parents and grandparents dabbled in have paid off nicely. In the past decade your liquid assets have grown nearly by thirty percent."

Harry smiled slightly.

"Actually, you don't have to take my word for it– here are your financial statements. And that leads me to the next piece of news."

The boy took the offered document and looked at it. ___Well knock me over with a feather! That is a lot of gold._ He shook his head, silently blessing his ancestors for the gift they have given him. A cough distracted him from his musings and he glanced at Hookslash a bit bashfully.

"The explanation for the glaring absence of any correspondence from Gringotts you have reported has a very simple and obvious in hindsight, explanation," the goblin paused while Harry gave him his best "come on and tell me" glare. "Your magical guardian requested that your financial statements are to be redirected to him until you either are of age or have requested it yourself."

"My… guardian? I have a guardian?" He frowned. ___Just who in the name of Merlin could be responsible for me and leave me in the hands of the Dursleys? Wait a minute._

"Albus Dumbledore," Hookslash muttered in a rather irritated tone, confirming his guess. Harry sighed and leaned back in the chair. After a moment of silence he asked:

"What, exactly, is a 'magical guardian'?"

The goblin observed him with a bored expression. Well, at least he wasn't grinning. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

"When a muggle-raised child enters the magical world, a guardian is assigned to him or her. Usually, it is the headmaster of their school, though that is not a universal rule. The magical guardian has all the responsibilities and privileges as the mundane one, although they are valid only when it comes to the magical world."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"So he asked the mail to be redirected… probably for the best," the boy conceded, imagining the face of Uncle Vernon if he learned that his freak of a nephew had a crapload of gold. He probably would have try to take it. Oh, wait... Harry had told them about it just that morning. Damn. "What happens now?"

"Now, if you give your permission, we will proceed to send the statements to you directly," Hookslash scrawled a note on a parchment near him.

"Granted. May I ask who else aside of me can withdraw money from my vaults?"

"Albus Dumbledore and whoever you give your key to," was the answer. The boy goggled at that.

"Wait, what? So basically if you have someone's key, you can waltz into this bank and grab all the gold from that particular vault?"

"Yes and no. For most of the accounts it is true, however, some of the older families pay some additional fees for extra security,"___okay, colour me interested__._ He thought.___It would be ridiculously easy to steal the key from me and then..._

Choosing to drop the subject just for now, Harry lifted the list of parchment he was given.

"Now, judging by this, I have a lot of gold. What are my options for increasing this amount further?" he asked. Goblin's eyes started to almost sparkle with greed and his grin looked positively predatory.

"Well, you can invest, of course."

Two hours later, Harry left Gringotts nursing the king of all migraines. The amount of economical technobabble he was subjected to was staggering. In truth he wanted nothing more right now than lie down and sleep, but before that he needed something. He had the weight of a giant fortune dropped on him and somehow he was supposed to make it grow.

"I need to read a freaking manual," he groused.

So instead of going to his cosy room in the Leaky Cauldron and shutting down for an unspecified length of time the thirteen-year-old went to Flourish and Blott's. Spotting a bored consultant girl he immediately put her to task to find any and all books on the subject of the wizarding economy.

She wasn't very amused to say the least. Until she spotted the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, that is. After that, she pretty much ransacked the whole shop trying to appease him. The result of her fervour was a rather scary pile of tomes. After discarding the half that wasn't relevant or up-to-date he was left with tree tomes. "Wizarding Economy, 1987 edition", a leather-bound book "Aurum potestas est" ("Gold is power" in Latin) the author of which had the misfortune of being named Artemis, though clearly was a guy, and "To Sell or Not To Sell" which was, ironically enough, written in rather archaic English despite being written in 1958. It was unnecessary to say that the browsing of these books didn't help his headache at all.

So when Harry finally entered his room, he barely made it to the bed, dropping the bag with the books on the way from the door to his destination. The bone-tired teen fell onto the bed and groaned partly from the migraine, partly from the sweet feeling that only comes to you when you meet your bed after a truly exhausting day. In ten seconds Harry was snoozing and watching dreams about shark-teethed books and Ripper wearing ridiculous robes and half-moon glasses.

The next five days could only be described by one word: learning. Harry read and read and memorized until he could no longer understand what the hell he was staring at. Then he would take a break, go visit some shops, annoy their owners with unrelenting torrent of questions about some or other item on the display, and then go back to learning. By the end of these five days, when he had finally read and understood all the books he'd bought he was a proud wearer of two delightful rings under his eyes that were a truly amazing sky-blue colour. But for him, it was worth it.

When Harry visited Gringotts again, he could understand most of what Hookslash was telling him and rarely became lost in the middle of a description of some thing or another. In the end they reached an agreement. As Harry had didn't have an agent before, obviously, Hookslash recommended another goblin named Tearshape. _Sometimes I wonder about goblin names, _Harry thought wryly. Unfortunately the gold in Potter family vault by the law wasn't available to him until he was fourteen, so for now he had to make do with the contents of his trust vault, which while sizeable, was a rather limited part of his inheritance. So the only thing he could do for another year was twiddle his thumbs and make plans for future investments. Immediately after leaving Gringotts that day the boy bought subscription to "Magical Markets", the weekly wizarding financial magazine.

After that, he decided that the question of money-making has taken enough time from this summer and went to his room to write a few letters to coordinate a Diagon Alley date with Ron and Hermione. However, before he reached his room he noticed a most unexpected visitor standing right in front of his door.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry questioned, feeling uncomfortably close to flabbergasted. The only times he'd seen the esteemed Headmaster was in the Great Hall, in his office or – once – in the Hospital wing. To see him in the Leaky Cauldron was… a bit surreal. Subconsciously Harry thought Dumbledore never leaves the castle, although of course he knew it to be false. The twinkling in the Headmaster's eyes clearly showed that he was enjoying Harry's surprise. As unbalanced as the boy was with the sudden appearance of the old warlock, he found himself blurting out:

"How you make your eyes twinkle like that?"

He cringed immediately at the sheer stupidity of what he said and quietly added "sir". Fortunately, it seemed that Dumbledore was very much amused by this.

"Ah, young Harry, all men tend to become rather eccentric with age…"

Glancing at the professor's robes, the boy briefly wondered if they lose any kind of taste in clothes as well – today they were brightly pink with green stripes here and there.

"… and wizards even more so. Many people wish to have a signature – something that distinct them from others. But sometimes a signature is supplied naturally by a person's magic. Your untamed hair, for example – exactly like your father's. The twinkling of my eyes is created by my magic reacting to my mood."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"Hermione's hair is like that too – the more stressed she is, the bushier it becomes," he responded thoughtfully.

"Precisely."

"I wonder if Snape's billowing cloak can be explained like that…" he trailed off.___Maybe he doesn't want to look like a bat, but his magic makes him similar to it nevertheless? A truly amusing thought that, I will certainly write about in my letter to Ron._He grinned cheekily at the very thought of Ron's undoubtedly humorous reply.

"Professor Snape, Harry. And I've never thought about that. I will have to ask him." Dumbledore grinned boyishly, knocking years off his expression as he did.

Harry shook off his thoughts and stared at the elder man. "Why are you here, sir?"

The jovial expression on the Headmaster's face dimmed a bit. "Ah, that would be a bit of a long talk, my boy. May I come in?"

He nodded – a bit guiltily, – and fumbled in his pockets for the key. After finding it, he opened the door and entered the room. Professor Dumbledore conjured a rather large overstuffed chair and sat in it. Harry watched - rather mystified by the whole show.

"So what do you need to talk to me about, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed and took off his spectacles. "Tell me Harry, have you heard of Sirius Black?"

Harry nodded. How could he not? Every Prophet since he got there had the deranged man's photo on the front page, and his escape was all that everybody in the Alley talked about.

"We have suspicions that he will try to come after you, Harry."

The boy frowned and his brain engaged at 100%."What's his motive, sir?"

Dumbledore cleaned his glasses and put them back on. "You defeated his master. According to Intel we have received, you are Black's main target."

Harry leant back a bit. The man spent more than a decade in Azkaban – and from what Hagrid had told him about the place, it was almost a guarantee that Black was mad.

"Who is he, actually?"

Dumbledore's face became grave. "Sirius Black was a student at the same time as your parents. You must understand Harry, that the times were dark, we knew not who to trust - family members became our greatest enemies and our greatest enemies became our greatest allies," he sighed. "Sirius was – is - one of my greatest failings as a Headmaster. The people that served Voldemort - people like young Sirius - my students - I failed them. Just as I failed young Tom Riddle."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Sir," he muttered. "You evaded the question."

The old Headmaster shifted in his seat.

"Professor, you know me," Harry pleaded. "I will find out the answers sooner or later. Why not give me the information now?"

Professor looked at Harry in his trademark Dumble-Look – benevolent, twinkling, yet piercing to the soul. After a couple of seconds of scrutiny he must have found what he was looking for. In a slow and serious tone he told the boy everything. Harry listened with rapt attention, memorizing and analysing the information. When Dumbledore finally stopped Harry abruptly stood up and began to pace.

"So, basically, on my tail I have a maniac who didn't hesitate to sell his best friends to Voldemort, spent twelve years in the mind-shattering prison and now obviously the only goal in his mind is to make me suffer for something that was most likely my mother's doing," Harry stopped pacing. "What do you think I should do, sir?"

Headmaster coughed. "I'm sorry Harry but you can't stay here. Unfortunately, the Weasley's haven't yet returned from Egypt, so the Burrow is out of question. Hogwarts, unfortunately, is not currently habitable – we are resetting the wards, and even the house-elves are out of the castle for at least the next week. So for the duration of this stalemate we have only a few options."

He paused, obviously waiting for me to ask. Harry idly thought that old men obviously developed a taste for drama as well. "And they are, sir?"

"The first option is for you to live with a member of faculty."

Harry briefly wondered how it would be to live with Professor McGonagall. The mental picture was... weird. Then to his mind came Snape (the cloak slowly moving a-la wings) and he visibly shuddered.

"The second option would be for you to live with the people who I personally trust, but are completely unfamiliar to you," Dumbledore said. Harry raised his eyebrow.

"What would be your recommendation, sir?"

"Professor McGonagall would be ideal. She volunteered along with professors Sprout and Flitwick, but Filius is occupied with the wards and Pomona doesn't know you very well."

The teen nodded, resigned.

"Very well, sir. Hopefully, it will not be as weird as I think it will be."

The Headmaster chuckled. "Your father James was her favourite student and young Lily was not far behind. I believe that you will find the experience not nearly as awkward as you fear."

"I hope so, sir."

An hour spent buying the school supplies (Professor Dumbledore, of course, insisted that it had to be done now, so that Harry wouldn't have to make a target of himself later) the boy was side-along apparated to Professor McGonagall's house nearby Aberdeen.

The moment he had firm earth under his feet again he wobbled and bent, trembling and shivering. The only reason he didn't throw up was that his throat was clenched too much for it to be possible. The professor lightly patted his shoulder. Harry silently promised himself that he'd create a far smoother and gentler travelling method than those he'd experienced so far. Currently, it seemed to him that all of the modern magical transportation was invented by a brilliant, but slightly sadistic guy with an extremely weak vestibular apparatus, who wished to make all the wizardkind suffer as he did.

"First Apparation is always the hardest, and Side-Along Apparation is twice as bad," Dumbledore said comfortingly. "It gets better with time."

Harry shuddered again, inhaled and exhaled, trying hard to keep his intestines from leaving him through mouth. "That was the most god-awful sensation I have ever felt, barring outright injuries, though I think I would prefer anything short of broken bones to Apparation. It's official, they ratified it in Parliament – I hate magical transport."

Dumbledore chuckled as Harry came around. He gestured for the young teen to follow him. The boy obeyed, dragging his trunks behind him. After a short walk they stopped before a yellow fence that shimmered and vanished as they approached it, revealing the house behind it.

It was… neat. Three floors, little tower, well-kept garden and overall it gave the impression of being very homely. A window on the second floor was lit.

Professor Dumbledore almost glided to the door and knocked twice. After a minute, the door swung open, revealing Minerva McGonagall.

"Albus, Mr. Potter," she smiled. "Good evening"

"Evening, Professor," Harry returned with a slightly uneasy grin.

"Hello, Minerva. I've filled Harry in on current situation and he agreed to live here until the start of the school year."

Harry's Head of House nodded and beckoned him inside.

The house was just as cosy on the inside as it seemed to be on the outside. Harry would never associate the word with anything connected to McGonagall, but admittedly he didn't know her that well. He didn't know her at all, really.

After a short talk with the Headmaster, McGonagall closed the door and turned to the raven-haired youth.

"Well, first things first – let me show you the room you will be occupying."

He nodded and followed her. She showed him to a nice room with brown furniture and walls that were painted green – a combination that Harry found quite relaxing. After depositing his things he turned to her, glancing for a moment at a bunch of nearly translucent bubbles on a nearby table that signified a Notice-Me-Not charm**.**

"So, professor, how is it going to work?"

She pressed her lips into a tight line.

"The schedule will be similar to Hogwarts – breakfast at eight o'clock, lunch at one o'clock and dinner at seven. You are free to do anything within reason – my library is at your disposal, just don't eat while reading."

He grimaced. Harry did that very rarely – Madam Pince was extremely fierce to those poor souls who ate while reading, so he could indulge in that habit only on those times when he both a) persuaded Hermione to share a book; b) had a snack saved from dinner. It didn't happen very often, mostly because of the difficulty of pulling off the option a).

Seeing the grimace McGonagall smiled slightly in her tight-lipped fashion and added:

"Also, seeing as I've got nearly all my paperwork for the coming school year done, I believe that your Transfiguration needs some work. Your father was a natural, and your mother was extraordinary as well, and I believe that with a right push you will be able to surpass them."

___Well damn. More work. Ah, well, I don't have anything to do anyway. At the very least there won't be any blasted essays…_

___I hope._

The idea to take Harry for the rest of the holidays came to Minerva during one of the regular Head of House meetings, when Albus, with a heavy sigh, let it slip that young Potter was in need of a sanctuary to live in due to him leaving Dursleys while Black was on the loose. This statement caused quite predictable reactions – Severus sneered and said something derogatory about childish temper tantrums (quite hypocritical of him, she noted silently), Filius grew pensive, Pomona started worrying and she had looked at Albus questioningly. He never just said something. Albus always had a reason. Pomona immediately volunteered to take Harry in until school started -the thought of any student not having a home caused her Hufflepuff roots to flair in agitation.

To Minerva's great surprise, Filius followed suit. Before she knew it she had volunteered as well, pointing out that Harry was one of her lions and therefore it was her business to care for him. After all James and the elder Potters' were the closest things she had to family after her fiancée died during the Grindelwald war, despite the trouble Charlus had after the war finished. She glanced at Albus and barely withheld a groan – judging by his twinkling eyes, it was exactly what he wanted. Predicting Pomona's reaction couldn't be hard, and it was a matter of moments before McGonagall's territorial instincts engaged. Animagus transformation tended to bring the animal instincts a bit closer to the surface – such was the price of being able to transform into an animal at will.

"Albus, you need to abandon your manipulative tendencies," she said evenly. The damn twinkle went full force.

"Manipulative tendencies? Nonsense, my dear!"

And so it was that Minerva waited for Albus to bring Harry to her house. Honestly speaking, it didn't seem to her to be a bad idea – she never was particularly close to him, despite her deep friendship with his parents, bless their souls. He seemed to respect her and kept his distance, and she did nothing to change the status quo.

Minerva was brought out from her reverie by the double knock that Albus always used. She hurriedly bustled to the door, and after a second of composing herself, she opened it. Albus stood there on the front step, in the newest of his eye-watering robes, every bit a benevolent, quirky mentor. Harry stood on his left, unconsciously fiddling with his trunk's handle, visibly uncomfortable.

"Albus, Mr. Potter," she smiled. "Good evening."

Harry gave a slight smile – more Lily than James, – and greeted her as well.

"Hello, Minerva. I've filled Harry in on current situation and he agreed to live here until the start of the school year."

She nodded and gestured Harry to come inside. After he vanished from view, she asked Albus:

"Where was he until now?"

He gave a hearty chuckle. "The Leaky Cauldron – he rented a room. It seems that he is much smarter than I realized."

She nodded. "It is a shame that he never truly applies himself – he could be such a prodigy."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was with mischievous look in his eyes. "Perhaps it would be prudent to show him that he has such a potential and through this give him the motivation he needs."

This time she didn't withhold her groan. "Albus, do you know just how much work I have? I physically don't have the time for tutoring!"

Albus just waved his hand. "Most of your 'work' is mine to do anyway. You simply took to doing it so that I have more time for Wizengamot and ICW. However, this summer there aren't any pressing matters that require my attention. Harry, however, is critical. His escapade in the Chamber and its aftermath tell me that this tutoring may bear fruit. He did choose Arithmancy, Care and Ancient Runes, after all. That means either Miss Granger pressed him to it or he decided to do so himself, and something tells me that it's more of the latter. The boy is quite stubborn and wouldn't budge if he truly chose something else."

She sighed, knowing that she had no choice in the matter. On the other hand, she wouldn't call tutoring the son of James and Lily (a smart boy all-in-all) a terrible chore. "Very well, Albus. I'll try."

"I ask for nothing more. Goodnight, Minerva."

"Same to you, Albus."

She closed the door and gathered her thoughts. Minerva shook her head and headed to the living room, where Harry stood, looking around with a rather puzzled expression on his face.

"Well, first things first – let me show you the room you will be occupying."

He nodded and followed her to the guest room on the second floor. The last time it was occupied was three days before, when an old friend of Minerva's, Emily Brightsight, stayed over for a couple of days. She was a genius potion maker and an adept spell creator. Both of them shared the dorm room back in their Hogwarts years and still were in constant contact. Entering the room, Minerva noticed a half-empty bottle of scotch left on the table from the last evening of Emily's visit and quickly threw a Notice-Me-Not charm on it. Fortunately, Harry didn't notice this manoeuvre and walked into the room right after she sheathed her wand. He looked around appreciatively and put his trunk near the bed. After that he turned to his Professor and asked:

"So, Professor, how is it going to work?"

She paused in thought and after deciding to stick with the familiar regime answered, "Our schedule will be similar to Hogwarts – breakfast at eight o'clock, lunch at one o'clock and dinner at seven. You are free to do anything within reason – my library is at your disposal, just don't eat while reading."

He grimaced and she couldn't help but smile slightly. That habit was always the unmistakable mark of any person who loves books. It seemed that Harry did, in fact, love reading. Well, time to drop the bombshell.

"Also, seeing as I've got nearly all my work for the coming school year done, I believe that your Transfiguration needs some work. Your father was a natural, and your mother was extraordinary as well, and I hope that with a right push you will be able to surpass them."

Another wince, but overall he seemed willing to learn. Minerva was beginning to look forward to this particular venture.

******The next day, Tartan House, Outside of Aberdeen**

The next morning McGonagall received the first shock from living with Harry Potter. At 7.45 she walked down the stairs and heard the sounds of two people arguing. As she reached the first floor, she realized that the voices came from the kitchen. The only two people in the house besides her were Harry and Floppy – the house elf. ___What could they argue about?_ The elderly professor crept to the door (smiling slightly at the irony of her sneaking up at the son of a Marauder) and listened.

"Mesa was serving Miss Minnie for ten years now, and young Harry Potter shouldn't put his nose where it isn't needed!"

Minerva was shocked– she'd never heard Floppy speaking with such anger.

"I'm sorry, did I touch a nerve?" she heard Harry say in a sarcastic tone. "I won't trust any elf to prepare food for me, and that's final!"

"The kitchen is mine, young Harry Potter! You should sit down and allow me to cook for you!"

"Not bloody likely!" he spat.

___What happened to Harry that made him distrust the elves? The house-elves were gentle and polite creatures who wouldn't - couldn't - harm a fly!_After putting on her best "stern teacher" façade, she entered the room. Harry stood near the table, his arms crossed and his face determined. He was glaring at the small figure of Floppy. Floppy, on the other hand, stood near the sink, her small hands on her hips, was glaring at him with just as much vehemence. Hearing the door open, they both stared at Minerva.

"What is happening here?"

They returned to glaring at each other.

"Mr. Potter! Explain yourself!"

Visibly tensing, he answered: "Besides when I'm in Hogwarts, I always cook my food myself. I don't trust the elves and I want to cook my breakfast here as well. Your elf here disagreed."

"Young Harry Potter has no business going into the kitchen! It's Floppy's job!" the little elf protested.

The professor counted to ten and said:

"Floppy, if Mr. Potter wants to, he can cook for himself. Mr. Potter, for your information, the food in Hogwarts is prepared by house elves..."

"WHAT?"

"Mind your tone, Mr. Potter!" she said sharply. He winced and answered in an apologetic tone:

"I'm sorry, it's just a shock."

Minerva gazed at him thoughtfully. "What makes you so distrustful of the elves?"

He laughed sarcastically, reminding her of Snape, of all people. "You can't trust the elves, professor. Every bloody elf I've met so far and was borderline insane!" He didn't bother to mention that it was only one elf. Dobby was unhinged enough to make him suspect the whole race, and the elf before him didn't alleviate his suspicions in the slightest. "They can and will cause you any kind of trouble if they believe it to be in your best interest – even if it benefits you in a very roundabout way. Example from the top of my head: if Floppy here thought that you are working too hard and need to stay at home for a while she would slip a diarrhea inducing potion or whatever she'd think of in your tea and have no qualms about doing it whatsoever."

She glanced at Floppy for a second. ___He… has a point. A well thought out, logical and reasonable point._

"I wouldn't! I wouldn't do it, Missy!" Floppy cried in distress.

She sighed mentally. Outwardly, she came to a decision. "Enough of this nonsense. Mr. Potter, you may cook for yourself, but don't argue with Floppy and stop this attitude. Floppy, you will let Mr. Potter do as he wishes."

Floppy peeped at her sadly and turned to continue cooking. Harry, however, stood unmoving with a disturbed face.

"Mr. Potter?"

He blinked at her and then coughed awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I kind of was over the line there. Don't know what came over me," he rubbed his hair sheepishly. "I did have a bad experience with a house elf, but I would never blame faults of one on his entire species. I… I'm sorry, Floppy."

Floppy blinked at him, and after understanding his sincerity, grinned at him. "Young Harry Potter does not need to say sorry. Floppy was not sad about this."

"Nevertheless, I'm sorry… And no, it doesn't mean that I won't cook for myself," he added after a moment of thought. Floppy's ears, perked up after Harry's apology, sagged again.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat at the table, eating a classic British breakfast– and Harry's creation looked as good as Floppy's to the latter's surprise and silent disappointment. Five minutes were spent silently eating. After they both ate their fill, Floppy took the dishes (Harry shot her a suspicious look as she did), and McGonagall beckoned Harry to follow her outside for the first lesson – she really didn't want to clean the room when some transformation or other went wrong. And she knew for certain it would. Once they were outside, she turned to him and smiled. For some reason, he squirmed.

"So far, you have shown yourself to be lazy, and unwilling to put any effort but the bare minimum in as a student," she smirked at Harry's resigned expression. "However your choices for new courses prove that you aren't nearly as lazy as I thought. So now, per Headmaster's decision and permission, I will tutor you so you will satisfy my expectations– and they are high indeed. Both your father and your mother, Mr. Potter, were absolute prodigies when it came to the art Transfiguration. I'm sure, that given time, James could have been as good as Professor Dumbledore. I would expect that you will be even better than your father."

At this moment, something flashed in Harry's eyes and he nodded with a look of determination. Minerva thought then that maybe – just maybe – he'd deliver.

Time would tell.

The promised lessons turned out to be a godsend for the young man. Harry had always had trouble with Transfiguration, completing his school work only with Hermione's help. His best subjects were Defence and Charms – being relatively easy for him to learn as they were. Point the wand, say the words, apply some power, and presto.

Professor McGonagall had always said that the key to Transfiguration was visualization. It was kind of an obvious principle – the clearer you imagined the needed change, the faster and smoother it went. Unfortunately, visualizing transformations with needed clarity and speed was hard – it required an active and strong imagination. So far, Harry was only moderately successful in it.

But everything had changed.

On the first day of lessons, when the Professor asked him to transfigure a bug into a pot he visualised a perfect image of the transfiguration so fast he stuttered the second word of the incantation from surprise. Furthering his shock, the beetle promptly turned into a perfect copy of the clay pot that he imagined despite the mangled pronunciation. He stared open-mouthed at McGonagall, who regarded the pot with a blank face, slightly widened eyes being the only sign of her surprise. Then she turned her gaze upon him and said only:

"Well done, Mr. Potter. Now, reverse the change and do it again."

Still slightly numb from shock, the boy did as was asked. Nearly absent-mindedly he turned the pot back to the bug and without pausing again to the pot once more. The mental pictures were clear and detailed, appearing faster than he could lift his wand. This time he didn't screw up the pronunciation, but despite that he could see no difference in the pot. Bewildered, he turned to McGonagall.

"Professor, the first time I've mangled the incantation, but the Transfiguration worked, and I see no change this time despite the correct words. What's the reason?"

After a moment, she answered, her voice slightly absent:

"The words and wand movements are an instruction for your magic that dictates the crude structure of the needed transformation. But the better your visualization is, the less your magic needs to rely on your words. The title of Journeyman in Transfiguration requires that the wizard does not use the incantations for the transformations of low to medium complexity at all, shaping his magic by his mind alone. It appears that, as I hoped, you do have the needed talent in the field. Now, what I need you to do is…"

What followed was a three-hour-long crash course on the non-organic Transfiguration as it was taught to those who applied for Mastery level courses. It was gruelling. By the end of the lesson, Harry was exhausted to the level when slightest magic caused his right arm to burn (not literally, thank Merlin) and he had a tremendous headache. But despite that, he was very, very satisfied with his performance – finally, the hardest subject he has ever had was relatively easy to him! McGonagall was as close to giddy as she could be (the boy was slightly flabbergasted at her behaviour) and after asking her elf to tend to Harry she left by Floo– no doubt, to brag about his sudden breakthrough. The young man found that he didn't care much.

The elf, though… he conceded his loss in the morning argument, but he still watched Floppy like a hawk.

___You can't trust the elves._

The next few weeks were as exciting to Harry as his first day being a guest of McGonagall – he cooked for himself, ignoring the low mutterings of Floppy, ate with his Head of House, learned from her for a couple of hours, ate lunch, read the tomes she assigned for him to read, ate dinner and went to sleep. The lessons featured more and more complicated transfiguration each day, but McGonagall drew the line at the organic-to-organic transformations and self-transfiguration. She said that it being the NEWT materiel it was far too advanced for him to attempt yet, and that he should concentrate on the other branches of transfiguration so they would become a second nature. As a compromise, she taught him the basics of Conjuring – granted, he couldn't do much, only something on a very small scale, as the power requirements of Conjuring were rather high. He also found that Conjuring just couldn't be done without an incantation unless you were a Master of Dumbledore's calibre, which made sense, but nevertheless was kind of disappointing.

As time went by, McGonagall grew less formal to him and by the end of holidays she even called Harry by his name a couple of times. Each time she would slightly grimace, as if silently berating herself for improper conduct. The boy would smile at her brightly and her grimace would vanish. He hoped that in time she would relax more with him in an informal setting despite her famous objectiveness that bordered on aloofness with her students. Her calling him by his name felt very weird, but it signified a better relationship between them, which was all kinds of useful. He briefly entertained a thought of having a teacher who would favour him. Before his mental eye appeared Draco Malfoy with a superior smirk on his face and sneering Snape behind him. He shook his head and smiled sadly – even if McGonagall became his friend (which was a rather surreal mental picture despite how less standoffish she was with him now), she would never do a fifth of what Snape does. ___Oh, well. An ally like Deputy Headmistress is invaluable despite her morals._

The last dinner on the 31st of August was spent in a rather high-spirited mood. Professor McGonagall explained to him the principle of unsustainable transformation – the reason behind Gamp's Laws – while gesticulating with her fork in the air. Harry knew that she was as passionate about her subject as she was about Quidditch – and boy she was a fan of the sport! And now that she forgot to be formal… Frankly, the situation would seem nearly impossible to him a month ago. Now, he simply listened to her with rapt attention while watching the moving fork just in case it wandered too close to his eye.

"…so the instability eventually disrupts the magic, morphing the object back with exponential speed. Because of that, if you, for example, conjured food and ate it, it would fade into nothingness while still in your body, which could cause some trouble to your digestive system. If, Merlin forbid, a wizard transfigured the food from something – a stone, for instance – the stone would be reassembled from the half-digested bits and revert to its original size." Minerva slashed the air with her fork for emphasis. Harry nodded, wincing at the imagined picture. ___The law had to be founded on some actual experience. Poor sods._

"Water, however, can be conjured indefinitely by a couple of spells I'll teach you in your NEWT level classes. Usual charms like Aguamenti, Agua Erupto and evenAqua Fluctus conjure water for a time period that depends on magical energy the caster used to cast the spell. Aqua Inundantia, however, conjures water permanently, but obviously takes a lot of power to cast and sustain."

She paused for a couple of seconds, allowing him to swallow a couple of pieces of meat pie without him risking missing something vital in her explanation. With a slightly wistful expression she reminisced about one of the battle's she'd witnessed during the war.

"I remember Albus fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and using this spell. You-Know-Who conjured a giant Manticore from flames and Albus countered it with Agua Fluctus. That duel was a breath-taking sight– Albus transfiguring, conjuring, and animating like a man possessed, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named throwing around powerful direct spells – fire whips, chunks of flesh from Albus`s constructs turned projectiles, streams of Dark Magic. Everyone on that battlefield just stopped fighting and watched with amazement and awe. Yes…" she grew silent for a moment. "Despite his darkness, or in spite of his darkness - You-Know-Who was a powerful wizard. A talented wizard. It is no wonder than so many still fear to speak his name. Myself included."

He processed the information and changed the subject quickly. "How would one go about using Transfiguration in duel?"

"Oh, transfiguring objects around into predators, changing the surroundings to suit you, transfiguring material shields, conjuring weapons, using constructs – the latter two usually require animation charms, while the usage of the organic transformations is complimented by compulsions. There are great many ways to implement Transfiguration in a fight, and a true master of it is a fearsome opponent. The living examples are Albus and, to a lesser extent, me. Filius is also known for his love of transfiguring his surroundings."

He nodded slowly. McGonagall shook off her reverie and looked at him with a bit of worry in her eyes. "Harry? Why do you ask?"

She didn't even wince at her use of the first name. Harry mentally cheered, ignoring the weirdness of his teacher calling him by his name.

"Last time I've checked, I have a homicidal psychopath after my head. Ah, correction, I have two. Voldemort counts as well, we shouldn't disregard him just because he lacks a body," he ignored her wince. "I have to learn how to defend myself. Chances are that Black won't be caught, and so he may very well visit me. I have to be ready," Harry glared at his plate. "I will be ready. I will survive."

******Very far away, in the wilderness on the continent**

The wraith was floating aimlessly through a clearing of two thousand-year-old oaks. It was plotting. It was waiting. It was surviving despite the constant unimaginable pain that comes from being less than a ghost. A snake – just a common variety, almost no poison and no magic - caught the wraith's attention. It positioned itself to lash out and take possession of the snake's body. Possession granted a brief respite from the agony.

Suddenly, just a moment before the wrath could take full possession of the snake's body it felt an eerily familiar presence close by. A presence that could only be another part of him - a missing part… if his instincts were right and they were very rarely wrong this could be what it had been waiting for.

The wraith stilled.

Waiting.

Watching.

The stinging sensation of the presence of another part of it caused the feeling of unease to increase as another wraith-like figure, this one far more pronounced, flew out of the bushes. Before the first shade could react, the second collided with it. A piercing scream filled the air as a silent explosion felled every small tree in a seven-meter radius. An eerie red glow set the forest alight for a few seconds before it changed, becoming silver. The light dimmed and vanished, showing the wraith for what it had become. It seemed far more focused and much more pronounced and solid than both of the parts that created it. It slowly turned towards North-West, where Scotland was, and rasped one word in an echoing voice:

"Interesting…"

******Author's note**

So, here is the first real chapter. If you wonder why the Dursleys and Dumbledore changed their plans, don't – I just thought that a summer with Aunt Marge and in the Diagon Alley sounded boring to write, so I went and wrote something else. I first thought about sending Harry to Tonks – but figured it would be illogical with Sirius being a relative of theirs and the real chance of him making a visit to cousin Andy.

About Harry's inheritance. Many fics depict Harry as a magical analogue of Billie Gates, only without the window-making company. I call that bullshit. Harry is rich, he has a mansion (admittedly, at this point it is nowhere near habitable), a title of Lord and a vote in Wizengamot, however he is far from the richest person around. That title goes to Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the pureblood families.

The elves – they and Harry's distrust to them in particular will be a running gag for a while. I thought of this while writing and it seemed like a nice enough idea.  
SleeperAwakes out.


	4. Something wicked this way comes

_"ALEX I HAVE NEWS!"_

_**BOOM**_

_"Potter, how many goddamn times did I ask you not to startle me while I'm working on my alchemy?!"_

* * *

**Chapter 4: Something Wicked This Way Comes**

* * *

Finally, the day came when Harry had to return to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall side-along apparated him and his things to the platform 9¾ an hour before the train left. After the dizziness passed he turned to her.

"Professor, I thank you for your hospitality. This summer was the best of my whole life."

He didn't mention that it was a sure winner by default (the summer with the Weasleys didn't count, as the sheer crappiness of the stay with Dursleys before Ron, Fred and George got him out somewhat equalized the things that came after) – that would be awkward.

"It was my pleasure, Harry," she answered warmly, having abandoned the facade of the stern teacher seeing as they weren't in school. She wanted to say something, but Harry wasn't finished. ___When a person feels that her work is appreciated, she is more likely to do so again,_he thought, deciding to lay it on thick.

"I can't thank you enough for your lessons. Without you I undoubtedly would never be that good in Transfiguration," that was an overstatement, but she did help him greatly. The reason for the sudden emergence of his genius was, he suspected, the unification of his mind. For the life of him the boy couldn't understand how that was possible but decided to accept it and let it slide.

McGonagall waved off his admittedly rather clumsy attempt at arse-kissing, but he could see that she was pleased.

"Nonsense, Harry – you are just as good as your father was at your age, if not better. You would have little difficulties on your own," Harry smiled, shaking his head, and returned:

"You taught Dad as well, so his prowess was also yours to praise for."

She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but resisted the temptation. She ruffled the boy's hair – a gesture that surprised him.

"See that your work in class is just as amazing as your work this summer, and I will, perhaps, think about continuing our lessons… maybe I'll even talk with Filius."

******That**was a surprise, though far from an unwelcome one. Per Harry's request McGonagall dedicated a few of their lessons to the combat use of Transfiguration. The things she could do left Harry speechless with amazement. From the sounds of it, James used Transfiguration in a fight as well. McGonagall told Harry that his father defeated a foreign mercenary of Voldemort once with a Switching spell by switching his left arm with his opponent's and knocking him out with a hay-maker.

The mention of getting Flitwick in on the lessons meant one thing: formal training in duelling. And that was something Harry looked forward to greatly.

"Professor, I solemnly swear that this year I will be better than even Hermione," he said in a grave tone with his hand on his chest. McGonagall chuckled lightly.

"Do you know just how much like your father you looked just now?" she asked fondly. Then she quickly grew serious and after a quick goodbye apparated away. Harry looked around the platform, which only now started to grow filled with people. He picked up his trunk and went to the last cabin as per his agreement with Ron and Hermione. After placing the trunk under the seat he lied down – he had had little sleep that night after finding "Pureblood genealogy of Ancient Families" in the library. For a couple of seconds after finding the book Harry was conflicted: a part of him was curious about anything to do with his family, another part was depicting him with a malfoyish smirk talking about pureblood superiority. After a couple of moments the curiosity forced the ridiculous mental picture to vanish and he opened the book.

Imagine his surprise and disgust when he found out that Malfoy was his distant cousin. Double it for when he found out the same could be said about Snape. In shock and disgust he read about the cute little pureblood tradition of marrying one's relatives, all to keep the "filthy mudbloods" out of the family. Harry knew, of course, that Magical world kept muggleborns (not to mention muggles) in contempt, but this certainly drove the point home.

Years later, when asked, he would name that night as the moment when he suspected for the first time that there was something deeply wrong with the Magical world.

Trying and failing to suppress a huge yawn Harry scribbled a note which he put on the door using a Sticking charm, lied down for a nap and promptly shut down.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was walking through the train with Ron dragging his legs behind her and her new ginger half-kneazle Crookshanks lying in her arms, grumbling slightly at the rocking of the train. After a few greetings on the platform they immediately went to look for Harry. The girl was literally giddy to ask him about his holidays – he mentioned in his letters that he was living with McGonagall and that she tutored him in Transfiguration, but when Hermione sent him a letter filled to the brim with questions, he grew evasive and wrote her a rather cheeky letter in which told her to 'wait till school'.

A big, big mistake.

There were two ways to really piss off one Hermione Jane Granger: the first being to offend her morals, as she was at her very core a fighter for justice. The second was to deny her information. Harry and Ron were still shivering at the memory of the rant their friend produced when learning about the Interdiction of Merlin and the Family Magic Law. The first was the ancient rule enforced by magic itself that did not allow the most powerful spells be written down and passed along by any means other than from a Master to an Apprentice. It was done so to prevent anyone not ready for the power such spells had from learning them. Of course, as with all the rules, there were loopholes, but wizards as a whole treated the Interdiction with a great respect.

Family Magic Law was a later decree that allowed the existence of spells that were used solely by the members of a particular family. Both FML and the Interdiction served as deterrence for anyone attempting to learn spells that they weren't entitled to by the virtues of sensibility or blood. Naturally, Hermione took it all as an affront to all Muggleborns. That wasn't pretty.

And now, her best friend dared to not tell her about the things he was learning from her favourite professor and actually was teasing her with it.

Ron looked at the back of Hermione's head and shuddered.

___Merlin have mercy on his poor soul._

They finally reached the last cabin, where they have agreed to meet. On the door there was a note.

**'Harry Potter, Gryffindor extraordinaire,**

**The Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Die,**

**The Basilisk Slayer yadda-yadda-yadda**

**rests here.**

**Enter on your own peril.'**

Hermione rolled her eyes and opened the door, ignoring Ron's guffaw. ___Boys._

To her surprise, Harry really was sleeping on the seat, snoring lightly. Before entering, she was completely set to rant at him for not answering questions about his summer, but now she did not have the heart to wake him up. She smiled and sat quietly on the opposite seat, releasing Crookshanks and shushing Ron, who was opening his mouth to undoubtedly wake Harry up. They sat and talked quietly for about an hour before the door was opened. Before them stood Draco Malfoy, smirk on his face and two gorilla-like bodyguards of his behind him.

"Well, who do we have here? The mudblood, the weasel, and the scarhead. Oy, Potty-head! Wake up when your betters talk to you!"

Harry stirred, yawned and sat up, opening his eyes and blinking groggily.

"What's the matter? Ah, Malfoy. Wake me up when it's something important," he said in a sleepy voice and lied down again. Hermione repressed a giggle and looked at Malfoy. His smirk became a snarl.

"Potter! Wake up when you are talked to, you ignorant halfwit!"

Harry sighed and sat up for a second time.

"Look, Malfoy, I'm not a very patient guy. So how about you take your two apes and go do some verbal vomiting in another place?" he asked in a tired voice. Malfoy shook his head and smirked.

"You can't order your betters around, Potter."

Harry interrupted him with a snort.

"Better? In what, pray tell, are you better than me? Is your inbreeding factor higher than mine? I call that a blessing – look at your goons and you will have a proof of my words," he grinned slightly, enjoying the possibility to use the knowledge he earned not long before.

Malfoy's face slowly paled even more from rage. He tried to say something, but Harry continued:

"However, your breeding is not your fault. Neither is your mind-set, come to think of it: you grew up with it. Your orientation is explainable as well. I mean, look at your father! It's a wonder how you were even conceived!"

Malfoy went past pale and into pale with red spots. Ron was openly snickering, but Hermione glanced at Harry, worried. He was still sleepy, but his rant was no less energetic because of it.

"But you know why I don't respect you and likely never will? You can't do anything on your own. Even Quidditch—your daddy bought you the place with the brooms. You act all high and mighty, but each time you are in a difficult situation, you fold and cry for your daddy. How many times did I hear from you the phrase 'When my father hears of this…'? Huh? Answer me, Malfoy! You are nothing but hot air. Now out of my sight, you spineless sack of crotch droppings!"

With these words, Harry stood up and closed the door with a bang and waved his wand at it.

"___Colloportus. _Merlin I despise the little shit!"

"Language, Harry," Hermione said absentmindedly, still staring at him in shock. He sighed and sat down.___Swearing at the blonde ponce, bad boy. Go to your room and think about what you did._

"Sorry. Got a bit worked up."

"No shit," Ron muttered in an awed voice.

"Language, Ron," Hermione muttered, but the redhead ignored her.

"That was awesome, mate! Where did you hear that? 'Crotch droppings', really?"

The girl had enough.

"Stop cursing for Merlin's sake!" she shouted. Ron winced and slid further from her on the seat. Harry, who had just fully processed the fact that he wasn't alone, lifted his head and smiled.

"Hey, guys. How was your summer?"

"Awesome."

"Fine, as you perfectly well know. I wrote to you about it two days ago," Hermione answered stiffly. "Now, mister, you'd better talk about ******your** summer, and don't you dare stall or make excuses!"

Harry made a pitiful face.

"But I really need to go..."

"Harry James Potter!" she shouted indignantly.

"Oh fine, don't shout," he laughed, then leaned back and smiled at his friends lazily.

"Well, at first I must tell you that McGonagall is really a big softie behind the stern exterior. Of course, she tried to pull that 'No-nonsense Deputy Headmistress' act while alone with me, but it didn't last long. She even calls me 'Harry' now."

"You're kidding me," Ron goggled at him. Harry's grin grew wider and he shook his head.

"Nope. Unfortunately, she's likely to stop that once we're in the castle – professional etiquette and stuff like that. Well, that would be a bit too weird otherwise, so I'm not going to protest."

"And what did she teach you?" Hermione finally asked. Harry's grin turned mischievous.

"Well, this and that. You'll have to wait and see."

Hermione stood up, sat near him and smacked him upside the head.

"Ouch!"

"You earned it!" she said menacingly, or at least as menacingly as she could while laughing internally. "Now – talk!"

"You are a violent woman. Ouch! See? There was a Malfoy here and she attacks me instead! Okay, jokes aside, long story short we found out that I'm rather gifted in Transfiguration."

Hermione blinked, not having expected this.

"What do you mean – gifted?"

Harry hummed and scratched the back of his head.

"Well, the key to transfiguring something is visualizing the change, right?"

She nodded, puzzled.

"Well, when I first tried to transfigure something on out first lesson, I botched my pronunciation, but the mental picture of what I wanted was clear as never before. I succeeded. After that, I found that Transfiguration just… comes to me naturally, I guess. Things are a lot easier than they used to be. It all just clicks, you know? Professor asked me not to delve into organic-to-organic and self-transfiguration, as those things are dangerous if you mess them up. The same goes to gasses, but that is a universal no-no which I didn't even think about experimenting with. For now, I think that this breakthrough in what is clearly the most difficult subject we've had bar Potions will come in handy. Runes and Arithmancy will surely take quite a lot of effort this year."

Hermione stared at him, feeling a sort of pride that he was approaching this so maturely. ___Now if only Ron was the same._ She sighed and leaned back in the seat, glancing at the door. That reminded her about something.

"By the way, what's the deal with the note on the door? Did you grow a big head?"

Harry laughed, waving his hand.

"Nah, you would deflate it immediately. That was just a joke. I thought about adding something about the troll, but technically it was Ron who knocked out the smelly bugger," Harry paused. "You know, Ron kinda deserves a title for that!"

Ron smiled smugly and scratched his head.

"What would it be then? Troll Hunter?"

"Nah, not flashy enough. Troll-brainer?" Harry chortled at the look on Ron's face. "Yeah, thought not."

The boys grinned at each other, accepting the game, and proceeded to invent more and more ridiculous nicknames.

"Leviclubbus?"

"The-Guy-Who-Stunned?"

"Prince Charming?" both Harry and Ron lifted an eyebrow at Hermione, who grew a bit pink. "Well, Vingardium Leviosa **is **a charm."

"You know, I like that one," Harry noted after a short pause. "You went in and faced a monster to save your lady. Nice."

Hermione blushed stronger, but still had a small smile on her lips. Ron's ears were flaming red, and he refused to meet the eyes of anybody else.

While Harry was chuckling at their embarassment, Crookshanks jumped to Hermione's hands and she automatically started petting him. She threw a glance at Harry and noticed him participate in a staring contest with the half-kneazle.

"And who's this guy?" Harry asked, not lifting his eyes and not blinking.

"He's my cat, Crookshanks," she answered. Harry nodded and blinked accidentally.

"Ah, damn. Lost contest to a fur ball. Well... I must say that he is either extremely cute in an ugly sort of way, or damn ugly in a cute sort of way. I can't figure it out."

Crookshanks meowed in a distinctly protesting tone, and Harry chuckled.

"No offense, big guy. If Hermione chosen you for a pet, you're okay in my book."

"Not in mine," Ron muttered darkly, having gotten over his embarrasment. Harry glanced at him.

"Let me guess – the ginger menace either didn't like Scabbers, or liked our good ole' ray of sunshine too much?"

"Right in one. Scabbers was ill even before Hermione bought that monstrosity, but now he is positively wasting away!"

"Crookshanks isn't a monstrosity!" she protested, and the cat meowed in agreement.

The second half of the trip to school was uneventful. Ron shared the details of his visit to Egypt, including a slightly funny (not that Hermione admitted it) story about the time when the twins locked Percy in a pyramid. Yes, it was a bit cruel, but the perfect imitation of Percy's reaction that Ron performed made it difficult for the girl to maintain her poker face.

Approximately half an hour before they were to be in Hogsmeade the train slowed down and stopped. She looked outside the window and didn't see any of the signs that they were already at the station.

"What's with the stop?" Ron grumbled. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. We aren't there yet, and… Wait," he looked at the front of the train. "Someone's moving aboard."

They sat in silence for a long time. Hermione shivered slightly and only then noticed that the temperature has been getting lower and lower for the last five minutes. Their breath was coming out in fog and the window was fogged as well. Ron looked at Harry, who silently grabbed his wand, a grim expression on his face.

"I have a ******really **bad feeling about this," he grumbled, standing up. He quietly opened the door and looked out into the corridor. They looked at him as he shuddered, grew still for a moment and staggered backwards, closing the door with a bang and falling at his backside.

"Harry! What's happening?" Hermione asked him frantically, coming to his side and checking him for any external clues as to what has just happened. He was paler than a sheet and trembled slightly, his eyes wide and looking at something only he could see.

Hermione and Ron were Harry's best friends for a long time. They went through so much together: the troll, the Philosopher's stone defences, all the chaos of anti-muggleborn attacks last year. But not once in their life have they seen him scared.

And now he was, to the point of cold sweat and shaking, terrified out of his mind. For them it was disturbing to the highest degree. Hermione looked at the closed door in fear. ___What was there that reduced Harry to this state?_

"Harry? Harry! What happened? Are you OK?" Ron asked, unsettled. Harry blinked, as if coming to his senses, drew a shaking breath and lifted his wand at the door.

_"____Colloportus."_

The locking spell immediately slammed the door closed.

"Harry, what's wrong? What did you see?"

Harry shook his head instead of a response and lifted himself from the floor. After a minute, when he started to come around, they glimpsed bright silver light coming from under the door. After a brief pulse the light receded and vanished, the overwhelming cold leaving along with it.

"Something wrong on every level…" Harry muttered finally. "I don't know what that was, but is was ******wrong.**" He raised his head. "Someone cried. A woman. Hermione, are you alright?"

"I didn't cry, Harry," was a puzzled answer. "And I didn't hear anything."

"Weird."

All three of grew silent. Hermione was looking at Harry in worry. Ron was doing the same.

The rest of the trip to Hogwarts went in grim silence.

The walk from the Hogsmeade station to the carriages lacked the usual cheer as most of the students were still trying to get over the feelings forced on them by the creatures that swept the train. Some of them were acting cheerful, trying to raise the spirits of their peers, some were really not affected at all, but there were also those who still were trembling like leaves in the wind.

Harry sat in the carriage going to the school, breathing in the cool air and trying to sooth himself. He still felt cold. ___Whatever __****__that ____thing was, it affected me greatly. I only got a glimpse of the dark figure in the end of the train, and it reduced me to a mess!_

He felt more than saw the worried looks Hermione and Ron were giving him since the incident. He could understand them – if one of them would be in his place, he would be extremely worried as well. _But ____would they have the same reaction? Maybe it is just me that is weak! _Harry waved that thought off.___Whoever confronted the creature on the train would be terrified just as I was._

Harry narrowed his eyes, looking in the distance. He just had a thought that, if true, would explain some things.

_But why would Dumbledore allow dementors on the train? Surely he understood what a terrible idea that was!_

Harry got out of the carriage, thinking furiously. ___Those creatures are under control of Ministry. They guard Azkaban. Therefore, there is only one reason they would be on the train – Black. Nevertheless, did our esteemed headmaster eat one lemon drop too many? Allowing them near the children is madness!_

The trio entered the Great Hall and sat down on the Gryffindor table opposite to the twins.

"Hermione, Harry - good to see you two!" the left twin said, while the right one nodded. Harry managed to smile tiredly at them, though judging by their faces, the smile was of an unsettling kind.

"Harry, mate, what has happened to you?" the left twin asked with a frown.

"You look like death that no one's bothered to warm!" the right one added with a mirroring expression.

Hermione answered that before he could open my mouth.

"Whatever it was that was in the corridor when we stopped."

"And he looks fine in comparison to how he was directly after that," Ron said, looking at him. Harry rolled his eyes slightly.

"I'm fine now. But I can't imagine what Dumbledore was thinking bringing dementors to the train, Black or not."

"Dementors?" George boggled at him. "That was what they were? The demons that bring out one's worst memories?"

"Well, that explains why Ginny was beside herself," Fred shook his head sadly.

Harry immediately looked at Ginny, who sat down the table near the other second-years. As if feeling his stare, she looked up the moment his eyes found her. She smiled at him – well, more like grimaced – and he nodded. There was a moment of complete understanding between them.

The first years passed between the tables. Harry looked at them in wonder and curiosity. ___Was I that tiny? What am I talking about, I'm still tiny._Harry was very small for his age – only Su Li, the tiny Chinese girl from Ravenclaw, was smaller than him in his year, which, truth be told, vexed him something fierce. From what he's been told, his parents weren't that small by any means. Harry briefly mused why exactly his height was like that of an ickle firstie, but soon got distracted by the Hat's song.

Usual advertisements of different Houses in rhymed form. He wondered if the only thing the Hat does all the year is thinking up the lyrics for the next song and watch the proceedings in Headmaster's office. _A p____retty miserable existence, come to think of it._

When Colin enthusiastically greeted his brother – Dennis, if Harry heard him correctly – and immediately pointed him to the boy, Harry couldn't hold in a strangled groan of the like that an old grumpy janitor does when seeing the freshly cleaned floor walked on by youngsters who just came inside from a muddy street. ___Great, __****__another ____fan-boy_. He looked at Snape and found him looking at Dennis with a sneer that contained slightly more disgust than usually. The old bat turned his stare at Harry and his sneer became a bit more malicious. After heartily (and silently) swearing up and down at squealing, camera-wielding fanboys and sneering, greasy haired professors Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his suddenly aching forehead.___They will push me to an early grave, they will._

A couple of minutes later the Sorting was complete and the Headmaster rose from his throne-like chair.

"I have a few announcements to make, but that will wait. For now – tuck in!"

"Hear, hear!" Ron muttered, before attacking the appeared food with a vengeance. Harry shared a look with Hermione, who shook her head fondly and followed his example, if only without making a mess.

After fifteen minutes were over Headmaster rose again and the desserts vanished.

"Now, on with the start-of-the-year announcements. I remind you that the Forbidden forest is exactly that, forbidden. We would have renamed it otherwise. Mister Filch, our caretaker, as always has asked me to remind you all again that casting spells in the corridors is not permitted. However, we all know the difference between what should be and what is," he waited out the snickers. Harry smiled and shook his head at the Headmaster's typical brand of humor: wise-sounding remarks with a philosophical air about them.

Dumbledore continued. "The list of forbidden items was once again expanded. You can see it on the door of caretaker's office." He paused and his eyes stopped twinkling. ___Whatever he is going to say next must be a grave matter indeed. Wait, when did I start imitating him in my thoughts?_

"As many of you know, Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban," what little noise there was in the background immediately vanished. "Per minister's order, the Hogwarts grounds are now guarded by the dementors."

Harry's jaw met the table.___How Dumbledore could agree to something like this? Well, judging from the clear distaste on his face, he didn't. Interesting._

"They will patrol the castle's outer walls. Do not leave the grounds – they will not differentiate between a convict and a student. They are very dangerous and provoking them would be a terrible mistake. Don't go anywhere near them."

"So now we have a legion of demons supposedly "protecting" us. Hell, we need protection from them!" Harry muttered to the nods of agreement from his friends.

"To the more pleasant news, professor Kettleburn decided to retire to save him his remaining limbs. His place as professor of Care for Magical creatures will be taken by no other that Rubeus Hagrid!"

The trio goggled at their friend, who had to be elbowed by McGonagall to remember to stand up. They cheered at him together with the rest of the Gryffindor table. Harry snickered when he saw that when Hagrid stood up, he moved the table away from the rest of the teachers, causing Snape to drop his tea on his lap. ___Oh, that face!_

"Well, it explains the biting book," Ron said and Harry nodded with a wry grin.

"Yeah, if that isn't Hagrid's style, I don't know what is."

"The Defence against the Dark Arts will be taught this year by professor Remus Lupin. Good luck, professor."

The student body clapped politely, looking at the new professor appraisingly. ___The guy took modesty to a new level and somehow managed to make worn clothes look good, or, at least, as good as possible. I grew up with Dursleys, I know something about rags._

"I wonder what's wrong with the new professor," Harry said thoughtfully as they walked to the Gryffindor tower.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked and Harry looked at him as if he was being an idiot. Which he currently was.

"First year: stuttering fool of a professor, piggy-backing Voldemort to the castle," he ignored the flinch at the name. "Second year: we've got Lockhart, the Obnoxious Obliviating Oligophren…"

"Oligo-who?" Ron blinked.

"It means 'imbecile'," Hermione explained absently. "So you think that the new teacher will be just as bad only because we didn't have decent teachers previously?"

"Hang on. Oi! Fred! George! Wait a second!" the twins stopped before the moving staircase that has just moved away.

"Guys, who taught Defence before Quirrell?"

They frowned and shared a look.

"Professor Hughes," Fred said slowly and George nodded, grinning widely.

"Good woman, halfway decent teacher, but she got fired with a ******bang****,**" they snickered.

"Yeah. That was a certifiable shitstorm," Fred reminisced with a mischievous smile, as if remembering something. The staircase returned to its place. Hermione stared at them suspiciously as they continued walking to the tower.

"What did you do?"

The twins shared an amused grin.

"Why, Hermione, we didn't do anything!"

"Pity, that," Fred shook his head in regret. George punched him in the arm.

"You wouldn't know what to do, brother of mine."

"And you would?"

"Unfortunately, no, I wouldn't. Bill gave us the talk only after that year, remember?" they both grinned widely and winked at Ron, who after a couple of seconds of stupid blinking grew redder than a tomato. Judging by the slightly appalled and thoughtful look on Hermione's face, she was close to understanding what the hell happened to that teacher. Harry turned to the twins.

"What, precisely, caused said storm of bodily fluids?"

"Well, McGonagall caught her together with three Slytherin seventh years in her office," George said, smiling somewhat predatory.

"Why couldn't it be Gryffindors?" Fred wailed, putting his hands together as if praying.

"Well, there ******is**that saying about Slytherins and their snakes…"

"George!" Hermione screeched, blushing wildly. Harry looked from twins to my friends, a bit confused.

"I'm not following."

Fred and George looked at him in surprise, then comprehension. After that they shared a look and turned to him with predatory smirks. Harry managed to withhold a reflexive gulp, but that was a close call.

"Harry, our friend…" George began.

"Do you know, per chance, where the babies come from?"

"Well, of course, but..."

He blinked. Then pieced together the hints from the previous dialogue that he ignored because of the seeming impossibility of the conclusion.

"She did not..."

They nodded with similar grins. Both Ron and Hermione resembled tomatoes by this time.

"Merlin! I thought she was caught having tea with the students, which is not a reason for tossing her out of the school, but..."

"If they were drinking anything, it wasn't tea, that's for sure!" George winked at him. Ron blanched suddenly – an impressive feat of his capillary system considering he was redder than a boiled crayfish before becoming whiter than a chalk.

"I've just had a disgusting thought about McGonagall..." he said in a monotone voice. The company gagged.

"******Thank you **for that wonderful mental image, Ronniekins."

"I think I trew up in my mouth a bit..."

"RONALD! That is disgusting!"

"No, seriously, Ron, what is it with you and making me want to throw up? First recommending Knight Bus, now this... Ugh, I need to wash my brain," Harry shook his head. "OK, moving along. Do you know who was the DADA professor before her?"

The twins shrugged in synch.

"Ask someone older, but not Percy, you know how he is about the teachers."

"Yeah, we wonder if he's adopted."

"What about Ronniekins? We wonder the same about him, as well."

"Ah, but we do it only occasionally. With Percy, it's all the time."

They continued in the same vein even after the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open. Harry rolled his eyes at the banter and went on to find anybody who would inform him.

Elsa Connors, the seventh year prefect, told them that the DADA professor from her first year had to be extradited to Germany – apparently, the guy was a mass murderer. The second year was only marginally better featuring a prim woman who was brought up in an abbey and was fiercely religious. Her beliefs and her magical inclination mixed weirdly and she varied between being a moderately good teacher and having passionate rants about the sinful nature of everything in the castle. After the school year she was hospitalised and now was in the St. Mungo's Mental ward. The mind healers were optimistic, though.

After hearing this, Harry threw a meaningful look at his friends. Hermione sighed.

"Fine, Harry, you were right. But what are you going to do about it?"

He grinned at her.

"******We **are going to do exactly what we do best – investigate!"


	5. Buck Up and Study

___"Ron, you okay?"_

___"I'm fine. Damn, what was that?"_

___"A golem."_

___"Don't bullshit me! Golems can't do magic, that much I know for sure!"_

___"Mine can."_

* * *

**Chapter 5: Buck Up and Study**

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up in high spirits and after a quick shower went to the Common room. Hermione already waited for him there.

"Let's go find Ron."

They found him – surprise, surprise – in the Great Hall, wolfing down his breakfast with abandon. Harry sat near him and took one of the last pancakes. Then looked at the pancake and remembered a curious fact.

"Elves."

"Wha?" Ron mumbled before swallowing noisily. Hermione winced.

"I said 'Elves'. The food is prepared by house-elves."

"Of course it is, young Potter," sir Nick said, floating nearby. "Here is the largest elven commune in Britain."

There was a loud crash from Hermione's direction. She looked at the remains of her plate in a mix of disgust and surprise.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked, pushing his own plate away.

"Sir Nicholas, about the house elves…" Hermione trailed off. The ghost looked at her.

"What is it, Miss Granger?"

"Are they paid?" she asked finally. Both Ron and Sir Nick snorted.

"Paid? Elves?" Nick snorted again. "What's next – days off? Pension and insurance? Don't be ridiculous, young miss."

Hermione's face could as well be carved from stone.

"Slavery. This food is the result of ******slavery****!**" she stood up and Harry followed.

"Sir Nick, how do we get to the kitchens?" he asked. Ron looked at him and Hermione as if they were refusing some sort of absolute prize (___to be fair, in his view we were probably doing precisely that,_Harry thought wryly.).

"Ah… to the left in the grand staircase, then down to the first underground level, corridor to the right, second paiting to your left, tickle the pear," the ghost said slowly. Harry nodded to him and, grabbing Hermione's hand, told Ron:

"Take our schedules, will you? We will be in the kitchens."

He nodded dumbly and they left.

Following Nick's directions, Harry quickly found himself in the needed corridor.

"A pear on a painting. Tickle the pear. But which one?" he asked, looking at the portraits nearby. Nearly all of them pictured food. Groaning, he proceeded to tickle all the pears he could see. Finally, a pear on the painting that depicted a large vase of fruits giggled and turned into a handle.

"This is undoubtedly number two in the top of unusual doors in this school," he shook his head and grabbed the handle. "The first being the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets"

Hermione snorted and he opened the door.

Immediately he was assaulted with an avalanche of sounds and smells, and stopped cold, nearly stunned by its intensity. Fortunately, after a moment the noise vanished. It reminded him of the elementary school and how the kids there would do thunderous mayhem without the teacher in class, but the moment he returns, they became as silent as graves.

Shaking off the memory, he entered fully and looked around.

___I see small people._

Well, he saw elves. A damn lot of them. Sir Nick wasn't joking when he said that there was the largest community in Britain right in the castle. And all of them looked at Harry with their large, unblinking eyes. In silence.

It was creepy as hell.

Then in one motion that had him staggering they jump and run to him as if he was in a B-movie about House Elf Zombie Apocalypse, the only difference being that instead of "Brrraainns!" they were screaming lines like "How can I service the young Master?" or "Would yousa like some tea?".___Damn it_, Harry thought, looking around at their eager faces and clutching his heart, ___they are certainly out to kill me._

But then Hermione intervened, bless her bushy hair. She started to ask the little buggers about the precise details of their work while her shell-shocked friend was calming himself and looking around.

Most of the kitchen was the right size for a human being, which seemed to him to be fairly impractical from a normal wizard's point of view. If you trust your servant, why not make his work easier? There were a few answers to that question, none of them very nice. The best and most probable answer was that no one thought of this. The wizard folk were very illogical, which was a traditional subject of Hermione's occasional rants. Why use logic when you have magic?

Why indeed.

Nevertheless, Harry didn't particularly care what had been going through the heads of those who had built the kitchens. For his purposes the current circumstances were ideal. He turned to the dejected-looking Hermione and the horde of elves that looked at her with horror and complete confusion. When he listened to Hermione's words he nearly laughed. She wanted to free them! Well, it seemed a noble goal, but a difficult one seeing that the elves themselves didn't want that. Harry coughed, summoning their attention.

"Hermione, you should look up the elves in the library before charging on the barricades… but I didn't come here for this. Guys, I want to cook for myself."

The effect was rather comical. The little buggers tried their hardest to persuade him not to turn down their services, wailing about how their bad work dissuaded him from their food and promising to do better. Honestly, he couldn't put a word in – all of them at once were crying, begging and whatever else they thought about doing. In the background Hermione stood looking at him with pride as if he decided to do that because of her newest crusade for the rights of house elves. In the end the house elves gave up and showed him a place to cook in the corner where he won't be in the way. To his great surprise, Hermione stood right next to him with a mix of uncertainty and determination on her face.

"Uhm... Harry, do you know how to cook?" she asked. The boy lifted an eyebrow.

"Duh. You don't, I take it?"

She shrugged sheepishly.

"I didn't think it would be needed so early in my life, and so..." he nodded in understanding. "Can you teach me?"

Harry chuckled and nodded again. Then he turned towards the elves and shouted:

"Hey guys, where do you keep the eggs?"

Ten minutes later they sat at one of the tables that were in the kitchen, enjoying the breakfast (simple eggs and toasts fried together, and some pumpkin juice) and chatting about classes. The tables – five of them – greatly resembled the tables in the Great Hall. Harry's hypothesis was that somehow the tables were used to transport the food from kitchens during meals. Now, though, the breakfast was over and they were clear.

"I wonder what Snape will take points for this year," Harry mused, wincing and biting into the lone remaining toast. "'Weasley, you are breathing in class! 5 points from Gryffindor!' Or, perhaps, 'Potter! You have dared to brew a potion that differs in color from the medical grade example. 10 points for being a glory-seeking dimwit!'"

"'Buffoon and dunderhead'." Hermione added in an absent-minded tone. The boy goggled at her with shock while she stared at him with the same expression.

___Hermione made a joke._

___Hermione made a funny joke._

___Hermione made a funny joke about a teacher._

___What is wrong with this picture?!_

Of course, this was exactly the moment when Ron entered the kitchen. Seeing his friends, he quickly walked over to them.

"Harry, Hermione, I have our timetables, and they suck! We better move, 'cause we have Potions with Slytherins in about twelve minutes!"

That drew their attention. They simultaneously grabbed the timetables Ron held in his hand and looked them through. Seeing a confirmation to Ron's words, Harry stood up and took off at full speed only hissing "Shit, shit, shit," timing it so that an expletive was uttered on every fourth stride. Ron and Hermione soon followed his example, bar the cursing part.

Approximately eleven minutes and forty seconds later they were standing near the door of Snape's domain. 'The Bat-cave', as Terry Boot dubbed it once.

Harry stood and held himself by the wall, catching his breath from the run. Ron fared a bit worse than him – having Oliver-The-Taskmaster as Quidditch captain tended to make you at least marginally fit. You wouldn't survive otherwise. Hermione was absolutely crashing down – she was a strong girl, having to drag her bag around the school (Harry carried it to the Common room from the library once. He still coudn't understand how in blazes she managed to do it all day), but she couldn't run well at all.

Malfoy stood opposite them, Crabbe and Goyle at his sides and Parkinson behind him. He glared at Harry, but didn't say anything.___Interesting – maybe my little rant back on the train persuaded him to kindly leave me alone? If so, then Christmas has come early. If not,well, even a brief mercy of not suffering his presence is a present to cherish._ Malfoy was all hot air and big words, yes, but that didn't deter him from being incredibly annoying.

After a couple of minutes of waiting the door opened by itself. Shrugging in a resigned manner Harry entered the class. Snape wasn't visible.

Glancing around to verify that the Potions professor hadn't just hidden in a corner to frighten unaware Gryffindors by jumping out with a scream, he walked to his usual seat and proceeded to put his things out of the bag. The other students followed.

In another minute, when everyone was seated, Snape smashed the door open and walked into the class, glaring up front and cape-a-billowing. Harry looked at him and noticed an obvious fact that somehow eluded him until this very moment.

Snape was a drama queen.

Not just a queen – a full-blown diva! If Harry had to guess the potions professor waited until everyone was seated to enter with the maximum epicness (was that a word? Ah well, it suited) possible.___Seriously, look at that cape!_ Harry shook his head and tried his hardest to repress his smile, meeting limited success in this endeavour.

"All of you by now assuredly have learned the elementary skills needed for potion making. Some, however..." Snape looked at Harry and Neville pointedly. "...wouldn't be here if the exams weren't cancelled last year."

Slytherins snickered while Harry maintained a stony expression.

"Today, you will brew Fire-Proof Concoction, used for the long-term thermal protection of wood. Without it we would have to replace a table in this classroom after every lesson with Longbottom present. Instructions are on the board. Begin!"

All-in-all, nothing has changed from the last year. Snape stalked between the rows, sometimes making a cutting remark to a Gryffindor or a quiet advice to a Slytherin. Of course, he vanished Harry's potion about five minutes away from the end of the lesson, citing it completely off the mark. Sure, it wasn't precisely lime green and was slightly darker and its vapours were fainter than needed, but it was satisfactory. Not that Snape cared about Harry's concoction's quality.

The boy in question exited the dungeons half-amused and half-annoyed. He absently noted that it was significantly better than what he felt after Potions last year. His new idea to view Snape's antics from the point 'what will the King of Drama show us this time?' did wonders to his Snape-tolerance levels.

He glanced at the timetable and shook his head.___Mondays this year will be very difficult, what with____Double Potions, Transfiguration and Arithmancy__._ He glanced at Ron, who was walking beside him and just now ended a monologue about Snape and his bias. Hermione was mostly silent, only sometimes interrupting him with a traditional "Language, Ronald."

"Ron, listen what I just noticed..."

While they were walking to Transfiguration, Harry told his friends about his observations and subsequent decision to view professor Snape as, basically, a source of amusement. Of course, Hermione didn't particularly approve of him calling a member of staff a 'moody child in adult's body', but even she admitted that this was better than taking offense at the professor's attitude and earning a detention.

When they entered the Transfiguration classroom Hermione remembered that she wanted to see for herself if Harry's boasts about his recently found prowess in Transfiguration held any amount of truth. Personally, she hoped that Harry wasn't just bragging, but she couldn't quite believe it without seeing it for herself.

After a couple of minutes of waiting professor McGonagall finally showed up.

"Today, we begin the third year of Hogwarts Transfiguration course. The main subject of this year is Inanimate to Animate transformations. As usual, I will explain the basic theory that you need to know before we make the first steps. Let us begin."

The next half an hour was spent furiously writing down everything that professor McGonagall said. Periodically Hermione glanced at Harry, who sat there and just listened, only sometimes bothering to write down an especially crucial point.

"Harry!" she hissed. "Why aren't you writing?"

Immediately she started scribbling even faster, catching up with the professor's speech. Harry snorted.

"I hate pointless writing, and almost everything she says is either something that I know instinctively, or something she told me, or plain common sense. If I hear anything new, I write it down."

She threw him an affronted look, but left him alone. He ******did**have a point.

Finally, the theory time was over and professor with a flick of her wand sent pincushions from a box on her table flying to each of our desks. The students were told to try and turn their pincushions into hedgehogs until the lesson was over. Hermione took out her wand and practiced the needed incantation and movement. After she was sure that she got it perfectly, she looked at the pincushion and clearly pronounced the spell, swishing her wand in an elliptic pattern and visualizing the change. The pincushion grew legs, became grey and tried to escape. The girl frowned and tried again after cancelling the transfiguration. This time the hedgehog was almost complete – for some reason it was headless. Another try and it was perfect.

"Very well, miss Granger; ten points to Gryffindor!" the professor nodded. She beamed and looked at her friends. Ron was glaring daggers at his pincushion, which had a couple of wiggling legs and was somehow red. Also, were those fins? Harry, however...

Harry was looking at his hedgehog serenely, twirling his wand in his fingers and periodically adding something to the poor animal – like turning its mouth into a crocodile's maw or growing it another pair of legs. All silently and with only a flick of his wrist.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"Huh?" he waved his wand and the poor hedgehog's tail grew and became a snake, which immediately started to hiss at him. "Just messing around - I'm bored. Why you cheeky little... appendage…"

"How are you doing this? When did you finish the task?" Hermione watched his lazy manipulations with fascination – he was transfiguring the animal with such ******ease**...

"As soon as it was given." He cancelled the transformations and gave her a mockingly insulted glare. Then he turned to the hedgehog, narrowed his eyes and after a dozen of quick spells turned what was once a poor, innocent pincussion into something distinctly Lovecraftian.

"Ahem," they turned to see professor McGonagall standing right behind them.

She looked at Harry sternly, and he shrank slightly under the glare.

"Mister Potter, it seems to me that you have already aced the practical side of this lesson. This said, I believe I told all of you in the first lesson in your first year that you do not mess with transfiguration."

Harry looked like he wanted to gulp.

"Do not play around in this classroom, Mr. Potter. Transfiguration is not a toy."

Harry nodded quickly, and professor McGonagall walked away to correct Parvati, who somehow managed to make the pincushion grow a rat's tail.

After the lesson ended the trio started talking about the amount of homework McGonagall promised to unleash upon them, and soon Hermione ran off to make a study schedule, proclaiming that without it they were doomed.

When time came to go to Arithmancy she met with Harry and Ron near the class and passed them the schedules. Harry took out his timetable and compared it with her work.

"Making the schedule wasn't that hard – it helped that we signed up for same courses and therefore still had identical timetables. Sure, I missed lunch, but it was worth it."

"Oh **boy**. Hermione, are you sure that we will have to dedicate so much time to it?" he asked in a tiny voice. She nodded.

"I looked at the coursework. The amount of theory that we will need to learn is staggering. Any less time for learning and we will not succeed," she said authoritatively. He sighed.

"This year is going to s**uck.**"

"Language."

Arithmancy was every bit as brilliant as Hermione hoped and just as difficult as Ron dreaded. Professor Vector seemed to be a fair and stern teacher who loved her subject, not unlike professor McGonagall.

"Arithmancy is a key to all magic," she said in the beginning of the lesson. "Along with the Ancient Runes, this course will help you to understand your magic much better than before."

Ron was wearing a resigned expression, obviously expecting a lot of homework on this subject and dreading it. Harry seemed slightly wary as well, but he definitely was interested. Hermione was starry-eyed.

"This year, we will mostly research the complex rules of math and the magical properties of different numbers, along with the basics of numerology. Next year we will learn the complex craft of statistical prediction and using Arithmancy as a tool to predict events. During your fifth year, we will begin researching spells using the skills you will have learned, analysing them and writing spell formulas of growing complexity and depth. Those of you who will take NEWT level Arithmancy course will be taught spell creation – you will learn how to create magic that is absolutely and wholly yours! That is a goal that is worth pursuing by any self-respecting wizard or witch!"

Hermione glanced smugly at her friends. Ron was slightly calmer now, and Harry looked at professor Vector with rapt attention. The expression on his face was familiar to her – he wore it every time he saw a spell or a piece of theory that he deemed important for him to learn. It meant that he was going to do his hardest to study, and as one to know the strength of his willpower, she immediately knew that she better make some additional time for Arithmancy in their study schedule.

The lesson itself was an introductory one. Professor Vector explained the short version of why numbers could influence magic. The 'short' explanation occupied the whole lesson, and professor mentioned that the long version will be taught in the beginning of fifth year.

"Well, what do you think?" Hermione asked when the trio got out of the class. Ron winced and rubbed his neck with his left hand.

"Sure, what she said sounds awesome, but it will be just **so much work**… And to think that we could be at Divination instead," he trailed off. Harry lifted his eyebrow at him.

"It was brilliant!" he said firmly. "Personally, I don't think that wasting my time on Divination is better than working my arse off on Arithmancy…"

"Language."

"…What I think is that learning Arithmancy will be great!" he paused and frowned, remembering their next period. "Anyway, what do you think we will cover in Defense this year?"

"The Ministry guidelines say that we have Dark Creatures this year."

They entered the Common room and immediately were intercepted by Oliver Wood.

"Hey, Harry, we've got the trials Sunday morning," he said brightly. They halted.

"Hi Ollie. Trials? Why? Currently, we've got the best team in Hogwarts skill-wise, and don't forget our terrific teamwork – I don't think that any changes in status-quo would be beneficial." Harry noted and blinked.___That sentence had far too many syllables._

"True, however, we need to look for potential. It can't hurt, can it?" Wood shrugged. Harry scratched his chin in thought.

"That makes sense. Very well, I'll be there."

"I'll go see the others, then. See you on the pitch!" with a jovial wave Wood departed. Immediately Hermione dragged the boys to the closest free table.

"Well, we best get started!"

"What, now? It's the first day of school, Hermione!" Ron whined. Harry didn't say anything, but his grimace clearly expressed his view on studying right now.

"And we already have a lot of homework!" she countered.

Ron sat down and started rummaging through his bag with a disgruntled expression. Harry sighed in a resigned tone and followed his example.

"Yeah. Do you think it is better to start with Arithmancy or Transfiguration?" he asked, looking though the study schedule.

"I say we do Potions first," was the suggestion. Harry looked up and nodded slowly.

"Get it out of the way, right? Good idea."

Tuesday that year was a day of relaxation, it seemed. Double Defence against the Dark Arts with Hufflepuffs and double Care for Magical creatures with Slytherins – both were mostly practical, which was a true blessing – Merlin knows Harry had more than his fair share of theory workload that year.

So it was with a spring in his steps that he approached the Defence classroom. It appeared that he trio was the first to arrive. Glancing to the left and right to confirm that Ron and Hermione were right behind him, he carefully opened the door and stepped inside, looking around.

In their first year, the walls there were plastered with pictures of different magical fauna and the classroom reeked of garlic, creating tremendous headaches. Quirrell's stuttering didn't help at all. Come to think of it, neither did Voldemort's presence.

In the second year the room had a second-degree Lockhart contamination. His damn portraits were all over the walls, smiling and waving at students. The teacher could also cause headaches, but he managed it without stuttering or vegetable cologne, just by the sheer pompousness.

This year the classroom lacked any and all personal effects. The only thing that looked to be suspicious was the violently shaking drawer in the middle of the room. It either contained something that will be studied today, or professor Lupin managed to do something that required a level of stupidity close to Lockhartish and locked himself inside. Without a wand.

"Hello-o!" Harry called just in case. No one answered.

"Why did you do that?" Hermione asked, looking at him as if he grew horns and started to dance cancan while singing 'Ave Maria'.

"Why indeed, Mr. Potter?"

They whirled around. Professor Lupin stood in the doors of his personal quarters, peering at their fidgeting forms in restrained amusement.

"Well frankly, sir, I did it just in case it was you who was locked in there," Harry nodded towards the rocking and jumping drawer. Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"And why, pray tell, would you suspect such a thing?"

"With Defence professors, you can never be sure about anything," was the deadpan answer. Professor's eyebrow raised a bit more. "If a professor looks like he won't harm a fly, he's extremely dangerous. If he is an insufferable buffoon, he is the kind of fool that decides that jumping on a bottle labelled "Nitro-glycerine" is a******smashing** idea. Therefore, if I see shaking furniture in the Defence classroom, I will expect that something dangerous and/or strange happened and most likely it involves the teacher."

Lupin stared at him for a couple of seconds and then chuckled.

"Five points to Gryffindor for your commendable caution, Mr. Potter," he said after his laughter receded. "Now, while we wait for the rest of the class, take a seat."

Hermione looked like she didn't know whether to snort or swat Harry. In the end, she did both.

After the students finally got to the class, Lupin coughed awkwardly and after a quick roll-call started the lesson.

"Well, the subject of today's lesson is a creature called boggart. Does anyone know what it is exactly? Yes, Miss Granger," he nodded to Hermione, who obviously had her hand in the air the moment Lupin asked his question.

"Boggart is a half-spiritual creature that can be found in abandoned dwellings, especially magical ones. No one knows how a boggart really looks like because when approached it takes form of a person's greatest fear as a defence mechanism."

"5 points to Gryffindor. All of it is true. Boggarts are really very shy creatures, very afraid of everything they see. So to protect themselves, they transform into something that is most likely to make the aggressor leave them well alone. However, a boggart can be repelled through negating this very defence and turning it around."

"What do you mean, sir?" Susan Bones asked.

"Laughter. It is boggart's greatest fear. Due to its nature, a boggart's appearance can be modified to be humorous. The incantation for this is___Riddiculus._Repeat after me."

"___Riddiculus__,_" the class mumbled.

"Good. Now, in this drawer…" he indicated the mentioned piece of furniture, which continually drew wary looks. "…is a boggart. You will face him one at a time, using the spell___Riddiculus _to morph the boggart into something funny. Now, form a line!"

A couple of minutes later it was Harry's turn to face the boggart that has so far nearly reduced Lavender to silent terror and shaking and made nearly everybody deathly pale. _Oh well, it was worth seeing Snape in those ridiculous clothes. _Harry almost couldn't believe that Lupin had actually pranked Snape (and yes, it was a deliberate prank – he clearly saw a mischievous smile on Lupin's face before he advised Neville on his treatment of boggart). Harry walked to the stumbling Acromantula and waited for a moment. The boggart paused and looked at him. Then it vanished in a swirl of grey smoke. When it cleared, the boy sharply sucked a breath in.

A dementor.

___Of course. Nothing and absolutely nothing spooks me just as much as the soul-eating demons__. _He couldn't even move his hand up to defend himself, all of his being paralyzed with overwhelming fear. Later he was told that it was only a couple of seconds before Lupin interfered, but to him, it felt like hours.

"_Riddiculus!_"

The aura of despair immediately vanished. The black cape of the dementor became eye-watering pink with silver stars and unicorns. Long lime-green beard hanged out of the cowl. Boggart stopped, confused. Harry shook his head and to his surprise found himself on his knees. ___When had I fallen?_ He looked at the creature and grimaced. Now that he thought about it, a Dumbledorish dementor was a rather amusing idea.

"Thank you, sir. It… overwhelmed me."

Lupin, who stood in a couple of meters from him and stared at the confused boggart, nodded and, after helping him to his feet, called:

"Next!"

Harry sat at the table in the kitchens with Ron and Hermione opposite to him. Ron decided to follow their example and eat downstairs so as not to lose the talk during dinners, but he firmly refused to cook for himself. The elves were visibly relieved and it looked like they hoped that Ron will persuade his friends to eat the food they have cooked like everybody else. _Yeah, right._ Harry didn't trust the little blighters and had already started looking up basic property protection and anti-theft charms so that they wouldn't touch his things and his mistrust wasn't likely to recede in the near future. And Hermione, while being of the opposite opinion about the house elves, took to cooking for herself with vigour that she usually had while studying.

"Well, it went well," Ron said, fortunately without any food in his mouth. "I mean, Professor Lupin is pretty good from what we've seen."

Harry nodded and swallowed the fried beef, looking through this week's edition of 'Magical Markets' that was brought to him this morning.

"I agree. However, we should be wary for now. We had only one lesson with him so far, and it is not the time to lay rest to my doubts yet."

"When did you become so paranoid, Harry?" Hermione asked in exasperated voice. He lifted his eyes at her and shrugged.

"It's not paranoia if they are really out to get you, it's plain common sense."

"Be that as it may, you weren't that suspicious last year, before…" she paused suddenly and after a moment continued slowly. "Before the Chamber."

Harry swallowed painfully and started coughing. Ron reached across the table and vigorously hit his back.

"Thanks, Ron. Well, being in the centre of a plot that could cost a lot of people their lives could do that to a person."

Hermione looked rather green at the rebuke, remembering how closely she came to death, but let the matter drop.

Care for the Magical Creatures was… well, it was just as they thought it would be. Hagrid, **of course, **chose a rather dangerous creature for the first lesson, and talked about it as if it was an angel. Harry could admit that when he took off his glasses, it did resemble an angel, but considering the fact that he was nearly blind without the spectacles, it didn't say much.

Of course, he ended up flying the beast. Not that he was complaining – it was different from riding the broom, but great nevertheless.

Of course, Draco Malfoy decided that he, as a Malfoy, is supposed to inspire great obedience from all the living creatures. Fortunately, he wasn't stupid enough to continue approaching Buckbeak (the hippogriff) when the eagle-horse snarled at him.

The first lesson of Ancient Runes that we had the next day slightly resembled the introductory Arithmancy class. Professor Babbling was very passionate about her subject, if slightly odd. During the first half an hour she insulted the intelligence of her students by saying that only a few in each generation had a true gift in Runes, and it was highly unlikely that they had such a person in this class, proceeded to tell them that they would write their OWLs and receive at the very least Exceed Expectations nevertheless (or else) and finally proceeded to talk about what Ancient Runes were really about.

According to her, what mattered about the Runes was their applications in practical magic. Any kind of spell cast by wand, she said, was not permanent. Most times spells would un-weave in a span of hours or days. And when you need a much longer 'lifespan', Babbling proclaimed, you use runes.

"The thing with languages," she lectured, "is that the longer the time they are spoken, the more power there is behind the words. The more passion is conveyed though a word, the more it empowers it. Why do you think we use Latin words as a foundation for incantations? This language hasn't changed in any major way for a rather long time. Of course, there is Egyptian, that makes for powerful magic, or Sanskrit, incantations in which are disturbingly powerful, but we mostly use Latin and Greek for the reason that we instinctively understand what they mean – approximately - and that empowers our spells, shortening the lead Egyptian has. Of course, it is only a simple rule of thumb and the full mechanism is much more complex, but for now this explanation will do. Now, runes. The rules with written language are both different and the same – the more emotion people put in the words they write, the more power the symbols they use gain. And this power accumulates by generations! By the prediction of the Runemaster Guild, Latin Alphabet will be considered runic in approximately 30 years given how many languages use it with little variation and therefore how many people write in it, despite the fact that it uses combinations of symbols to create words instead of creating separate symbols for different concepts."

Around the middle of that monologue Harry had an idea that just didn't leave his mind.

"Professor Babbling, if I may ask?" seeing her nod, he continued. "The question is not, per se, about runes, but about a thing you mentioned. You said that Sanskrit incantations were extremely powerful."

"Yes, but in order to use them to their full potential you would need to learn Sanskrit," Babbling was staring at him rather pointedly. He nodded and continued.

"There is a language that may very well be older than Sanskrit that I know and able to speak. I wondered if…"

"Parseltongue? Well, I'm afraid I cannot help you much with that. I've read somewhere that it makes for rather powerful magic, but further than that..." she trailed off.

"I'll have to look it up. If I have the gift, I might as well use it," Harry said, shrugging sheepishly as the others in class looked at him warily. It seemed that all of Hogwarts in an unanimous and unspoken way decided to conveniently forget that he was a Parselmouth after the whole mess with the Chamber was over.

"Now, what was I talking about? Ah, so, the introduction to Runes…"

After the lesson ended Hermione was positively giddy. She just couldn't stop gushing about it the whole way to the kitchens.

"And we will need Runes NEWT for so many jobs! Anything that has a relation to enchanting or wards is based on Runes. Oh, did you hear what she said about the things runes could do?"

"Yeah, she said about brooms being enchanted," Ron said, yawning. Poor guy didn't like the lecture during the second half of the lesson much, saying only that it was extremely difficult to understand. Harry found it tolerable – if only because of Babbling's manner of teaching. She would explain something for ten minutes only to go off to a completely unrelated tangent and start rambling about some sort of highly complex theory that he thought to be Master level stuff.

"Right… I'm so looking forward to learning it, and…"

"Hermione," Harry said slowly and tiredly. "That was a difficult and long lesson, and I've got a headache. Please. No gushing."

She looked at him in worry, but didn't ramble anymore.


	6. Back in Black

_"Merlin allmighty! Pup, you're making me proud!"_

_"EEP!"_

_"PADFOOT, GET OUTTA HERE RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"_

* * *

**Chapter 6: Back in Black**

* * *

The classes continued as usual. Herbology was just as mundane, Astronomy just as pointless and History just as boring as they were in the previous two years. Potions became much more tolerable because of Harry's new view of Snape – but not for long. As much as the boy hated the greasy git, even he had to grudgingly admit (when there was no chance anyone other than Ron and Hermione would hear him saying that) that the man was as sharp as goblin steel – it looked like he figured out exactly why the boys of the trio were sometimes smiling slightly during his lessons and his usual verbal abuse nearly tripled. Harry's temper, barely restrained in the past, just couldn't take the sheer amount of shit Snape spewed at him and as the result he often found himself ******enjoying **his tender care during his many detentions. The only upside of the situation is that Harry learned to somewhat calm himself when Snape was in the immediate vicinity and baiting him as usual by tuning out the world as he used to do when Dudley and his gang would catch him in a game of 'Harry Hunting'. It would slightly mute the pain from the blows, and Harry learned that it was somewhat effective against Snape's taunting.

Defence against the Dark Arts continued to be flawlessly taught. None of Harry's fears were realized yet, which suited him and his friends just fine. The most pleasant surprise came when Lupin let it slip that he was a close friend of Harry's parents. The boy was damn near ecstatic to hear anything about them and Lupin gladly shared a great deal of stories about Lily and James.

Arithmancy was just as mentally exhausting as they thought. A lot of times Harry had to repeat the mantra 'Spell creation, custom magic' to hold himself from slacking and do the damn homework – professor Vector was a real taskmaster.

As was professor Babbling, apparently. Although Harry would gladly say that Runes homework was much more enjoyable – as most of it was drawing Rune atlases, which were essentially the personal reference sources for the whole course. Babbling even told them that those who pursue careers in the fields that apply Runes on a frequent basis use their school atlases all their lives, adding to them constantly. For some reason Harry liked writing in his atlas, making it as neat as possible, drawing the runes as precisely as he could. He even looked up spells to make the writing better. The sight of his usual nearly incomprehensible scrawls transforming into neat lines was very satisfying, and when he showed the spell to Hermione she ******squealed****. **Obviously, later on she would deny it.

Professor Babbling, while an absolute genius, was obviously not completely there. Often she would go on a different tangent right in the middle of the lesson, sometimes explaining things about how the subject of that particular class could be used to improve some or other charm or transfiguration and other times muttering to herself about materiel that Hermione suspected to be Mastery level. But Harry didn't mind – she was a brilliant teacher and her explanations (when they **were** understandable) were eye-opening, not to mention full of witty remarks. Her other quirk was that she never called a person by his name, only using nicknames. For example, she called Hermione 'Curly', which aggravated her something fierce. Ron was "Gangly" while Harry was "Green Eyes" – a tolerable nickname all-in-all.

One day, Hermione dragged Harry and Ron to a deserted classroom.

"Harry," she said seriously. "I want you to try casting spells in Parseltongue."

"What? Now?" Harry looked at her, bemused.

"Yes. I've searched the library on the subject and there were some clues that the Parselmouths were all very strong wizards. It won't hurt, will it?" Harry gulped slightly – Hermione had that glint in her eyes that reminded him of Wood when he was speaking about Quidditch. ___That girl and her curiosity..._

The boy shrugged and took his wand out. His first impulse was to try and say the Latin spells in Parseltongue, but he quickly understood the stupidity in the idea of just hissing the usual spells. Then he tried to simply say different words such as ___Open, Light,_etc. He had little success right until Hermione reminded him that the spells required intent to work. After that... well.

Harry said "___L____ight_" while concentrating on a picture of a small orb of luminescence appearing on the end of his wand. He got a feeling that something was very wrong when he felt burning in his right hand that was clutching his wand.

The burning spread to his shoulder and upper chest and quickly grew unbearable. Harry grunted and tried to drop his wand, but the stick of holly was stuck to his hand. In five seconds after he attempted to do the spell he couldn't hold in a whimper of pain.

The burning in his arm flared and suddenly vanished. Harry gasped in relief, but then he had to shield his eyes with a hiss when the whole classroom was bathed in brilliant light.

When the light subsided, Hermione ran to the fallen figure of her friend and quickly checked up his condition.

"Is he all right?" Ron asked worriedly, kneeling near them. The girl bit her lip, looking at the small trickle of blood coming from Harry's right nostril.

"I don't know! It was not supposed to happen... Let's get him to Madam Pomfrey, quickly!"

Five minutes later saw them levitating Harry's unconscious form through the Hospital wing's door.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione called, carefully dropping Harry on the closest bed. A racket was heard from the matron's office and it opened, showing an irate mediwitch, carrying a huge box.

"What? What did you all do to yourselves this time?" she asked grumpily, carefully placing the box on the floor with a soft clanking indicating the potions inside.

"It's Harry. We were trying to figure out if he could cast in Parseltongue and he just collapsed!" Hermione said in a slight panic. Pomfrey growled slightly, walking to the bed and drawing her wand.

"Kids these days, experimenting with ancient languages, in your third year, no less! It's a wonder I still have not gone grey..."

She started to mutter spells under her breath. After verifying something, she nodded to herself and went to the closest potion cabinet. She grabbed a bottle of murky brown liquid and shook Harry awake.

"Wha..." that was as far as Harry got before Pomfrey showed a large spoon of the potion down his throat. The boy gulped it down obediently and started coughing.

"Each time I wonder," he whizzed. "if potions could get any nastier. Each time you prove that they, in fact, can. Would it kill you to make them neutral-tasting?"

Pomfrey scoffed and put the potion in the shelf.

"Would it kill you to keep yourself out of my wing?" she asked dryly. Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"Touché."

"You have managed to harm your circulatory system. A rather common symptom of magical overload. You shouldn't have tried to channel that much magic, it's rather surprising how little damage there is!" Pomfrey harrumphed. "You have gotten away with a little scare, so don't go and experiment with such things at least until you are of age!"

Harry nodded and flexed his arm carefully.

"Very well. For how long am I to stay here?"

"I should hold you here for a week for this stunt, but you will probably escape on a second day so I won't even bother. Begone with you, shoo!" she waved at him and walked away. Harry looked at her, bewildered, then shook his head and decided not to question his good luck.

Soon after that, the trio was writing an essay for McGonagall. The transfiguration theory that they were learning wasn't very hard – a damn lot of it was just common sense – but the sheer amount of what they needed to memorize was sometimes overwhelming. Very soon after the year started they learned to hate the small differences between inanimate-to-animate transfigurations, which made the most of what they were expected to learn. Fortunately, the other teachers were giving slightly less homework than usual.

It was this little mercy that allowed Harry to practice Quidditch – even though it wasn't with the team. In the beginning of the term Wood and Harry bashed heads over the latter's complete refusal to wake up obscenely early in the Sunday morning to practice after a late night of doing Runes homework. Long story short, Harry managed to persuade Wood to let him practice in his own time because of the usual lack of interaction between the Seeker and the rest of the team during the game. Sometimes he would go to the pitch just as the five disgruntled, tired students and Wood (who somehow was still energetic) were leaving it. The team would give him loathing glances of betrayal and comment on how they had to wake up in four hours in bloody morning and train in cold and/or rain while Harry had his beauty sleep. He didn't take offence – they said it without any substantial heat, just to whine a bit and discharge some of the stress, so he wasn't particularly opposed – no harm in letting the guys/girls grumble.

The time until the first match of the year – which was between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff – flew right past them, and before Harry knew it, he stood beside Wood on the Quidditch pitch and was melancholically pondering just how many Pepper-up potions Pomfrey would have to administer when half the school inevitably came down with a severe cold.

"Well, we'll just have to prove that we can fly despite the weather," he heard Wood mumble and looked at him in abject horror and resignation.

"Ollie, please tell me you don't actually plan to play in this weather. I mean, really, it's past the cats and dogs phase, it's already raining cows and bears!"

"Gryffindor will never forfeit while I'm the captain!" Oliver called back. In his eyes danced the familiar sparks of maniacal determination. Harry sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and mumbled:

"Mutiny starts to sound really good…"

His gut told him that it wouldn't end well.

******Two hours later**

"Harry? You okay?"

The boy groaned and tried to open his eyes. ___Wait, bad idea__._ He shut them again with a hiss of pain and croaked:

"Somebody dim the freaking lights!"

There was a rustle and he felt the lighting dimming and becoming tolerable.

"Water," he managed to say. A cup materialized near his mouth and he immediately emptied it. After that Harry squinted at his surroundings. ___Hospital wing. Why oh why am I not surprised._

"How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

"Feeling like someone stole my muscles and put a lot of jelly inside me instead," he mumbled irritably, scratching his head. "Now, I'm blind as a mole, and only see some bunches of colour that talk to me in kind voices, so could somebody give me my blasted glasses? Thank you," he took the offered spectacles and immediately put them on.

The spots on sticks around him came to focus, and he found myself in company of Ron, Hermione and the Gryffindor Quidditch team bar Oliver.

"Where's Ollie? And what's about the game?"

The twins winced at the same time.

"Well, after Dumbledore caught you when you fell and somehow banished all of the dementors, it appeared that Diggory caught the Snitch," Alicia said apologetically.

"Dementors. Damn, now I remember. How and why did they get here?"

Inwardly, he was caught between seething at his weakness and shuddering in remembrance. Outwardly, he was just very grumpy.

"No one knows. If you ask me, they felt they could have a good ol' British breakfast," Fred smiled in dark humour.

"Nevertheless, we lost 210 to 170," George shrugged, "And Ollie currently tries to drown himself in the showers,"

Harry shook his head.___Trust Oliver to try something that drastic when Quidditch doesn't go as planned._

"Well, tell him that it was the sole time I didn't get the Snitch, soul-sucking demons or not," he said firmly. Twins grinned and shared a look.

"Gryffindors don't die…"

"We go to hell to regroup," Harry finished, grinning weakly. He sighed and cracked his neck.

"Ah. Damn. Who has my Nimbus?"

"Em… Harry? Your broom… well…" Hermione stammered. He looked at her.

"Yes? What is it?"

"It crashed into the Whomping Willow, and… you see," she sighed and pointed to a bundle of twigs in the corner of the room. The boy looked at it and did a double-take, feeling a sharp pain in his heart. His Nimbus 2000, his broom, was absolutely destroyed. He shakily rose from his bed to look closer – pointless, really, but he felt that for some reason he had to do it.

Unfortunately, madam Pomfrey chose that exact moment to come bustling to his bed, shoo his friends and tell the boy in no uncertain terms that he had to remain in bed for another day. Harry knew that resistance would be futile and resigned himself to being bored out of his mind for more than 24 hours.

"So, you want to learn the spell that adult Aurors are struggling with?" Lupin asked, his brows raised. Harry nodded jerkily, and the professor sighed.

"Harry, I commend you for your determination, but we are talking about a spell far out of your league."

Harry gave him a hard look.

"Please, professor. If you will not teach me, I will study it on my own, which will probably double the time I need to learn it.I ******want**to learn it, and I******will.**"

After a long pause Lupin said:

"Very well, Harry, you have proven your point. Come here at five on Tuesday for your first lesson," he smiled with a slightly nostalgic look on his face, "Lily would be so pleased that you try to learn as much as you can."

Harry couldn't help but smile at the mention of his mother. However, he quickly sobered.

"It is not learning for learning's sake, I'm not a Ravenclaw by any means. I simply need to know how to deal with the dementors. Otherwise I wouldn't touch such a high-level spell with a ten-meter pole – I'm not nearly as arrogant as Snape portrays me, you know."

On this, the boy left the chuckling teacher alone.

The next weeks proved themselves even more frantic than before. On the top of the regular homework, which slowly grew to the size that slightly scared Harry and depressed Ron, Harry had the Patronus training with Lupin. The spell proved to be extremely difficult – even more so than he had thought previously. Whatever he did, he just couldn't do anything better than small wisps of silver mist, and it took him eight hours of practice to get even there! Lupin commented that he needed a powerful happy memory to do the charm, but Harry didn't have any memories of even remotely happy moments that he haven't tried already.

When he looked up the books on Patronus charm in the library, he found out the requirement was not a happy memory – the emotion itself was. The memory was needed to create the emotion, and so it had to be strong enough to make a person happy just by remembering it. The charm creates a guardian against darkness, its power is given to it by emotion the caster felt, and its form is a representation of what or whom the caster trusts to defend him. Harry briefly wondered what his Patronus would look like. ___Whom do I trust? Who I believe can protect me? Dumbledore, maybe? If so, what would the animalistic representation of the quirky headmaster be? _Harry snorted at the memory of someone from Slytherin calling Dumbledore an "old goat".

Nevertheless, after a long session of soul-searching, Harry had to admit to himself that he didn't have any memories powerful enough. His upbringing with Dursleys wasn't exactly a thing he would remember fondly, and any memories of his time at Hogwarts either weren't powerful enough, or were tainted by a close brush with death. However, the boy believed that he could compensate for the lack of emotion with the power he put into the spell. That caused a lot of trouble with Hermione – she would put up a fuss every time Harry returned to the Gryffindor tower completely and utterly exhausted and barely able to move after his study sessions with Lupin. Despite this, he knew he had to continue training – and his method proved to be at least partially effective, when the silvery wisps started to intensify and become a _Protego_-like shield, which, from Lupin's words, was the most powerful form of non-corporeal Patronus. After a couple of seconds of though, he added that during one of the skirmishes during the Blood War he saw a Patronus cast by Dumbledore that appeared to be a wave of power that crashed into the dementor ranks, immediately forcing them into panicked retreat. That seemed to be a Patronus of third level of power.

Meanwhile, Black somehow managed to enter the castle and attempted to enter the Gryffindor common room. When the Fat Lady refused him entry, he slashed her portrait, scaring her half to death, if that phrase can be used when talking about a painting. She refused to guard our tower while Black is still on the loose, and so the Gryffindors had to put up with her successor – one Sir Cadogan. The knight was irritating on a good day and positively intolerable on a bad one. The sheer stupidity of the things he spouted was astounding.

The fine evening of the first of December Harry was pacing in his dorm like a caged lion, trying to breathe deeply and stay calm. For the whole day it seemed as if the whole sodding castle decided to irritate him as much as possible – Malfoy muttered obscenities at his back, Ron ate as disgustingly as he could, Hermione was bossier than usual, Cadogan didn't open the damn portrait for five minutes despite them saying the password, much preferring to lecture Harry on the knight's honour (he stopped when Harry, being at the end of his admittedly short patience, threatened him to permanently vanish his "honour" if he didn't open ******right now**). In addition, upon entering the trio were immediately approached by Colin Creevy, who wished to take a couple of photos. Harry usually tried to tolerate the guy – the boy's obvious crush on him was creepy as hell, but Colin was relatively harmless. Today, though, he just couldn't hold it in and told Colin in no uncertain terms that "I ******don't**do photos and if you ask me one more time I will stuff your blasted camera up your arse and heat it up beforehand so that you wouldn't enjoy it". Then he stormed up to his dorm to try to calm down, ignoring everyone in the common room.

After Harry chilled out somewhat, he decided to go and take a long shower, hoping that hot water would help. It did, and he was soaking there for a long time – he even nodded off while standing for half an hour. After waking up he thought that enough was enough and went to bed. He walked to the door of his dorm, not paying any mind to the fact that it was open (it was never open).

Harry entered, yawning, and paused a couple of steps in with his mouth still open, staring at the back of an unknown person standing right next to Ron's bed.

"Who're you?"

The person whirled around, showing to Harry the face that he saw in the newspapers.

The Sirius Black.

For an infinitely long moment the boy and the convict stared at each other. Then Black snarled and lunged at Harry. The boy jumped to the side with a yelp and fell on the floor near Neville's bed.

However, it seemed that Black didn't want to eviscerate Harry, as the boy thought, but just to leave. He paused to open the half-closed door, and Harry seized the moment to throw the first thing that he could grab at the man, namely, an empty pot that was all that was left after a long-term experiment of Neville went wrong. The plant he had been grooming for about a year grew up, became purple and after an introduction to a magical fertilizer of some kind started to produce greenish fumes that made people woozy. Obviously, Nev had to get rid of it, but the pot still remained in the dorm for some reason.

Nevertheless, the man ran out of the dorm room with the pot rapidly gaining on him. A 'thunk' and a string of loud curses that quickly lost volume told Harry that he managed to score a hit with his namesake, not that it managed to do any good. The boy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at the sound of the sleepy grumbles of his dorm-mates, who were woken up by the racket.

"What… Who was that? Harry?" Ron was still rubbing his eyes and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Harry's cold reply, however, immediately woke him up.

"Black. It was Black."

As he was lying in the Great Hall, Harry thoughtfully stared at the ceiling that showed the cloudy night sky.___How was Black even able to enter the castle? The portrait was explained – poor Nev couldn't remember the passwords and written them down. So Black somehow stole the paper._

___But how did he get to the portrait?!_

Harry turned to the right and stared at the snoozing silhouette that was Ron.

___Theory number one: there was a secret tunnel. An entrance that was unknown to staff and therefore wasn't guarded. Knowing what I know about Black, it was possible. Lupin let it slip that the Marauders knew the school better than anyone. Maybe Black had found an entrance he never told his friends about?_

___Theory number two: hiding in plain sight. I'm not sure if he has a wand, but surely there must be charms that would allow him to enter the castle without anyone the wiser – transfigure himself into something and let a student bring him to school from Hogsmeade… or use an illusion of some sort._

Harry winced at a particularly loud snooze and turned to the other side.

___Theory number three: a mole. He may have an ally inside the castle. Lupin, maybe? No, he's too obvious. But maybe he plays on it – no one would suspect the most suspicious, after all. But then, maybe not… Argh, nothing is certain…_

He couldn't fall asleep until long after that, and his sleep was troubled.

The next day, he was on his way from Arithmancy, Hermione and Ron walking beside him and arguing over his head about something that he frankly didn't even bother to listen to – just tuned them out from the very beginning. Harry believed Ron started this particular row by asking the question he asked after every other class:

"Why did I pick Arithmancy?"

Of course, Hermione took offence to that, as she always did. In his moments of weakness Harry silently agreed with Ron, and seeing that he was currently nursing a headache it certainly qualified as such.

"Hey, Potter!"

The migraine has just increased. Malfoy didn't bother the trio overly much after the confrontation on train. Figures that he had to do it when Harry was cranky.

"What is it, Malfoy? I'm not in any mood to talk to you, not that there******is**any mood for it," the boy said, ruffling his hair and rubbing his forehead discreetly. Malfoy smirked.

"Well, I wondered what were you thinking about Black and if you wanted to get revenge on him."

Harry looked at him as if he had grown another head. If the blonde wanted to bait him, it either was a miscalculated attempt, or a particularly well planned one with a punchline that wasn't said yet.

"Why do you care for my thoughts on that particular matter?" Harry asked, consciously ignoring the second part of the question, which was more likely to be a bait. Malfoy slightly paused.

"You **do **know what he did, don't you?" he asked and looked at him searchingly. Harry raised his eyebrow. This was quickly becoming the most civil conversation they had since the first meeting in Diagon Alley.

"If by 'what he did' you mean 'betrayed my parents and me to Voldemort'," everybody flinched. Crabbe and Goyle looked particularly ridiculous, "…then yes, I do know."

Harry belatedly realized that he had never come around to telling his friends about this little curious fact. Hermione looked at him in horror for a couple of seconds, after which her expression changed to one that meant 'We will talk about this'. Ron, predictably, had the face that usually substituted 'Blimey, mate'. Malfoy looked as if Harry knocked the floor from under him.

"Yes, well… so do you want revenge?" he continued after gathering his wits. Harry shrugged.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't – it doesn't really matter."

"How so, Potter? Decided to hide behind Dumbledore? Or is it dementors that you put your trust upon? Well, probably not them – we all know that you can't handle being near one!"

___Ouch. That one hit the mark__._ Even slightly off-balance Malfoy was able to dish out insults that would make a saint go berserk. Harry, however, was no saint.

"Do you love your mother, Malfoy?" Harry asked, seemingly out of the blue. He blinked at the non-sequitur.

"What out of it?" He asked, tone guarded. Harry stepped closer to him.

"Imagine her, right now. Does she love you? Has she ever told you about it?" He made another step. "Has she ever told you that she would shield you from harm? That she would sacrifice her life in an instant if it meant that you would live on?" another step had him snarling the next words right into Malfoy's confused face. "Imagine **right now** seeing and hearing her doing **exactly that**!"

Malfoy stepped away, visibly disturbed. A couple of seconds later, however, he managed to collect himself and sneered at Harry.

"Why, so you see your pathetic mudblood mo…"

On that, Harry punched him in the face.

Hard.

Hearing and feeling his nose break did bring him satisfaction, but it was brief, because Crabbe and Goyle, reacting faster than Harry ever thought they would be able to, punched him next.

Very hard.

He landed on his arse, choking and barely restraining bile from escaping. Harry didn't see stars, but he was pretty sure he was seeing a lot of tiny Hermiones. The hundred little exemplars of his best friend quickly assembled into one much bigger with worry on her face.

"Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

"Fine," he croaked and attempted to stand up. He managed, but barely, wincing at the protesting abs and chest. As he was forcing himself to stand upright, he discreetly wiped off the tears off his eyes.___Note to self: punches in the gut still hurt as hell. Nothing new, though._ Harry glanced in the direction of the three Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle both were lying on the floor in stiff poses that clearly told him that both were hit with ___Petrificus Totalus._

___It seems the apes hit me harder than I thought if I didn't hear the spells._ Draco was holding his obviously broken nose and glaring daggers at the trio. His wand was in his right hand, but he did not bring it up, for Ron's and Hermione's were raised and pointed at him.

"Pafetic, Pother," Malfoy said. "Phightin' like a Muggle"

Harry breathed in and out. _Damn, it hurts. I didn't feel the ribs crack, so it must be tissue damage. Maybe I should visit Pomfrey. Now, though, there is a certain snake that desperately needs a lesson on when to keep his trap shut._

"Listen, gah, Malfoy, you should learn that there are things that it is not a good idea to make fun of or call names. It surprises me that you are ignorant of that particular unwritten law."

___There. Insult his knowledge of social norms and customs. _Seeing how all purebloods of that political block seemed to give a lot of attention to manners in their upbringing, it was sure to strike the mark.

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort but he never got the chance.

"What, exactly, is going on here?"

Harry barely managed to withhold a groan. Out of all the teachers…

"Pfofessor Snaphe! Pother athacked me!" Malfoy didn't hesitate to whine. The attacker in question looked at him, lifting his eyebrow in a sardonic manner.

"Remember what I told you on the train? What – if not daddy, then Snape?"

"That would be twenty points from Gryffindor for disrespect," Snape said, sneering at him as Malfoy glared in answer. "What happened here, mister Malfoy?"

"Pother hit me. Then Gwanger and Weasley pethrified Crabbe and Goyle. It was an assault!"

The whining really was getting to Harry. He lost control of his temper – again.

"You asked for it! No one insults my mother!"

"Assault, mister Malfoy?" Snape asked in a silky tone. Harry glanced at him. He only ever used this voice when speaking to Gryffindors – Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville in particular. The softer Snape's voice is, the deeper in shit you are – a widely known fact. "And what provoked this assault, dare I ask?"

Either Malfoy didn't notice the change of intonation, or the thought that Snape could punish him didn't enter his thick skull.

"Oh, I just made a commenth on hith fear of dementorth," he said off-hand. If Harry wasn't as mad as he was, he would stare at the blond shit incredulously.

"You called. My mother. **A mudblood.**"

The last words were growled. As in, really growled.

Snape's face went even paler than usual – no small feat by any means. Absently, he dispelled the charms on Crabbe and Goyle and healed Malfoy's nose with a quick___Episkey._

"Detention with Filch for you three. Mister Crabbe, mister Goyle – go to your common room. Mister Malfoy, follow me."

With that the greasy git turned on his heel sharply and went to his dungeon. Draco followed him, grumbling something under his breath.

"Well, that was interesting," Harry muttered, rubbing his bruised ribs. "Snape looked like he was going to lecture Malfoy for insulting us. Somebody check the temperature in hell."

"More like he was going to tell him off for being punched. Then the slimy bastard would congratulate him for managing to get under your skin and teach him a couple of new and exciting ways to do it," Ron said, shaking his head. Hermione glared at him, but held the usual admonishment for crass language.

"Harry, you need to go to Madam Pomfrey. That looked like it hurt."

"Nothing I can't handle. I'm fine, Hermione."

"No, you're not! I saw you wincing. With your pain tolerance, that was surely something more than a bruise!"

"It is a pretty bad bruise, but nothing more. Pomfrey isn't needed."

"I don't..."

Hermione pointed her wand at Harry's nose. The boy looked at the tip warily.

"You will go to the Hospital wing ******now****, **or so help me I will petrify you and levitate you myself. Ron, support me!"

The redhead looked at her, at Harry, and shrugged.

"I'm with her, mate. You should at least check it out, just in case."

"Traitor."

"Hey, with your luck you probably cracked a rib. I'm helping you here!"

Harry glared at both of them, but shortly sighed.

"Fine. Lead on, oh wise Overseers."

******Ten minutes later**

"What? Again?!"

Madam Pomfrey was not amused.

"No, it was Malfoy this time," Harry answered tiredly, sitting at the closest bed carefully, so as not to aggravate the bruise more than it was needed.

"Crabbe and Goyle, more accurately," Hermione corrected.

"It is always something new with you, Mr. Potter. What next – a dragon's bite?" Madam Pomfrey paused mid-stride with a tube of bruise paste in her hand. "Wait, forget I said anything."

"That would be Ron's prerogative," Harry grinned weakly. "He got that already, lucky sod."

"You got me beat there with the basilisk," Ron retorted, scratching his arm, where the said dragon bite mark (courtesy of Norbert) was placed. "And don't forget the scar on your forehead."

"Boys," Hermione rolled her eyes. Madam Pomfrey smiled sweetly.

"Well, if you are so intent at gathering disfigurements, maybe I shouldn't heal the bruise?"

Harry just looked at her plainly.

After one History of Magic with Slytherins in the middle of December Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron (both still yawning) and pulled them forward.

"Come on, sleepy-heads. You have five essays to write!"

That statement had the effect of a gallon of ice-cold water put in their collars.

"What?! No, I would swear that we had only two for this week!" Ron boggled at her. Harry didn't say anything, only making a resigned face.

"Well, yes, plus the two that are due in a month and that Herbology essay that we have to write until the next Thursday"

"Well, then we will write it later. Don't scare me like that, Hermione. Five essays..." Ron shook his head as if trying to ward off a nightmarish thought. Which, for him and Harry to a lesser extent, it was.

"You had enough rest during History. Now it is time to work!" Hermione told him in a sing-song voice.

"Not our fault – I just don't get how in the world Binns can describe the most heroic battles of all time with such enthusiasm as to induce catatonia," Harry grumbled, massaging his shoulder.

The girl opened her mouth to answer that, but heard a commotion from the corridor leading to the dungeons. Judging by his quickened pace, Harry heard it as well. The thing about castles is that sounds spread **really **well.

Before the trio rounded the corner leading to the corridor in question, Hermione heard a girl's voice spitting something about "being as loony as a name suggests". When they came closer to the sound of someone arguing they saw a girl – second or first year, judging by her height – sitting by the wall with a bloody lip, another girl standing in front of her and staring at her with contempt and a gaggle of Ravenclaw second (or first) years aside of them, watching the scene either approvingly or dispassionately.

"What, exactly, is going on here?" Harry asked, echoing Snape's earlier question. The small crowd started murmuring amongst themselves, throwing interested glances at Harry. The standing girl answered, not looking from the vacant expression on the other girl's face:

"None of your business."

"Why did you hit her?" Hermione asked, looking at the bleeding girl with worry. Harry did a double-take, having not noticed the blood.

"Again, none of your business," the girl shrugged and, after glancing at the trio with an uninterested look, walked away. The Ravenclaws that were standing nearby grumbled and left as well. The girl on the floor rose shakily and picked up her bag.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. She looked at him and shrugged. ___Were those __****__radishes____ in her ears?_

"You are Harry Potter," the girl stated. Harry's brow rose a bit.

"Evidently. And you are...?"

"Luna Lovegood," was the answer. The girl – Luna – tilted her head to the side and watched Harry as if he was an interesting exemplar of some sort of magical animal. Harry looked a bit off-balance. He coughed and asked:

"Right... So, what did she hit you for?"

"She said I was weird. Wrackspurt infestation makes people do strange things," she answered airily and before Harry could ask her anything else, she skipped off, whistling merrily.

"Wrackspurt?" Hermione asked, puzzled. "Is it some kind of mind-controlling magical bacteria?"

Ron scoffed.

"Don't think about it much. I recognized her – she's a neighbour of ours. Her father owns a newspaper – don't remember the name – that writes nonsense about imagined animals and conspiracy theories. Ginny played with her in childhood. They especially loved to play 'Marrying Harry Potter', if I recall correctly..."

"Too much information, mate."


	7. The Second Coming

_"Hermione, remind me, why did I think it was a good idea?"_

_"We need money, and they are criminals."_

_"Ah, right."_

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Second Coming**

* * *

The Christmas and Christmas holidays came, and all the students welcomed the break. Well, aside from some truly hardcore Ravenclaws. Even Hermione was rather glad to have a pause in her unending crusade for knowledge.

The Christmas itself was the same as it was in last two years, differing only in the amount of presents that Harry received: besides the usual Chocolate Frogs and a broom servicing kit from Ron, "Advanced Arithmancy made easy" from Hermione and a jumper from Mrs. Weasley, he received a book on Human Transfiguration and a huge treacle tart from McGonagall and the Snitch he caught in my first game in Hogwarts from Dumbledore.

But the clincher was the Firebolt.

Someone who wanted to remain anonymous sent Harry the best and the most expensive broom in existence.

Naturally, both him and Hermione thought it to be suspicious and asked professor McGonagall to make sure it wasn't hexed. She told them that she would return it in a month.

"What?" Harry goggled at her. "What could take so much time? I need it, I have to train!"

She glared at him.

"The process of analysing an enchanted object is extremely hard and lengthy, Mr. Potter," ___Damn. Last name terms again? What did I do?_"I don't like it any more than you do."

"Is it about my Christmas present? I didn't mean any disrespect..." he trailed off. McGonagall continued to glare at him for the next five seconds, after which she sighed and shook her head slightly.

"Tell me at least how you knew..."

"The label? It was the same as the bottle that stood half-empty in my room in the first day I spent in your house, you know, under the Notice-Me-Not charm," he smiled at her innocently. She looked at him with widened eyes. "What? If I wear glasses, I can as well charm them with magic detection, right?"

She sighed again and looked at him with fond exasperation.

"Very well, Harry, I'll try and push for a faster analysis. I don't want to lose the Quidditch cup. Merlin knows Severus would be absolutely insufferable if I do."

Ron didn't speak to Harry and Hermione for two days, unable to forgive the disrespect to the greatest broom in the world. Sure, he wasn't malicious – he just made sure to goggle at them constantly to convey his disbelief at their actions, and half-jokingly loudly whisper faux-insults about the 'no-good broom haters' and 'paranoid sacrilegers' or even 'twig bigots'. He came around, of course – obviously, the only reason good enough to be sullied by talking to the 'lowly broom dismantlers' was Arithmancy homework.

___Lazy arse._

The Firebolt was returned to Harry two weeks after the holiday's end with assurances that it wasn't tampered with. He got it back just in time to beat Slytherin: the look on Malfoy's face when he grabbed the Snitch right from under his nose was priceless!

His Patronus, on the other hand, wasn't progressing as fast as he thought it would; the lack of happiness required to cast the spell was a giant roadblock. All he could do for now was a solid-looking _Protego_-like shield. Lupin was at a loss and halfway into February the professor decided that they did all they could.

"Harry, you do everything right. Your problem is the same as most Aurors': you don't have the memories to fuel a corporeal Patronus. I've already taught you everything you need. The rest is up to you."

That night Harry was tossing and turning, thinking about ways to compensate for a lack of positive emotions. He couldn't just give up and settle for a mediocre shield. He needed a corporeal guardian, at the very least! Harry didn't know if he would be able to use the giant wave-like Patronus that Lupin described seeing Dumbledore cast at all, but he'd be damned if he didn't reach the corporeal stage! But how could he do it?

It was in the morning that he found the solution.

He stood in the Restricted section of the library under the invisibility cloak and shuffled the pages of the book he read last year: "The Magicked Mind".

"'Occlumency can be used to quell one's emotions as well as control them to a certain degree: one can shift from anger to calm, from fear to tranquillity and from sadness to happiness at will by utilizing it'. Yes! There it is!... Oh, wait."

"'Unfortunately, due to the hormonal instability that puberty brings, it is impossible to completely master before one's magical maturity'. Well, damn."

That was a dead end... or was it?

Just out of stubbornness, he decided that he had to at least read the book about basic Occlumency to see for himself if it is impossible to learn. Following a reference in the end of the chapter, he found a tome "Mind Protection For Dummies" in the far corner of the Restricted section that housed an obscene amount of dust. Glancing around, he proceeded to read.

In the four days it took to read the tome (Harry still had to study and sneaking into library took more time that he would like it to take) he got the gist of what was needed. To his shock, he already got the basis of Occlumency down. It was the blank feeling of detachment that Harry would describe as 'tuning out reality'. He instinctively maintained it during Potions so as not to snap at Snape. That was the first stage of emotion control, mastering which was the foundation of learning Occlumency. From what he had gathered, the hormonal turmoil wouldn't let him learn anything more than basic control over his emotions in the near future, but he hoped it would be enough.

Since that day, Harry spent at least half an hour daily trying to shift between different emotions at will. He met only limited success, but it was enough for him to be optimistic.

In the meantime, not all was well in the state of Potterland; Hermione and Ron were in a huge row because Scabbers vanished without a trace; well, other than a little bit of blood and some ginger hair under Ron's bed. Naturally, Ron thought that it was Crookshanks who ate the rat; Hermione, on the other hand, vehemently argued that her cat didn't touch the other pet. The result was that both of Harry's friends stopped talking to each other. As Ron was now in a state of constant sulking, Harry told him to sort himself out and cut the pity-party and proceeded to hang out with Hermione. Harry knew it was rather cold; however, he had no wish to be caught in the rat debacle and suffer. Besides, it was the only rational choice in the matter: it wasn't like he could choose Ron's side – Hermione was the one he always ate with, and he had absolutely no wish to make his dinners miserable. On the other hand, if tried to sit on the fence, Harry would have to listen to both of them whining to him about the other. _No thank you._

Fortunately, Ron wasn't ready to leave his friends alone and by the end of February he apologized to Hermione for being a prat (and initiated another small argument about who should feel more sorry) and the Golden Trio was together once more.

The coming of spring brought a lot of... excitement for Harry. The reason for it was his second meeting with one Sirius Black.

On the sunny day of 5th March Harry was flying rings around the Quidditch pitch during the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor game – as Ravenclaw trounced Hufflepuff in the middle of February, the result of this game would decide just who would have the Cup.

The game so far went in the lions' favour. 150 to 70 – a nice score for the twenty's minute of the game. The Ravenclaw Seeker – Cho Chang – was currently tailing Harry and did everything she could to not let him look for the Snitch in piece.

A viable tactic; the girl was smart. ___Not to mention quite easy on the eyes._ Harry shook that thought off and looked around, hoping to see the damn golden ball. In the next second he did a barrel roll, barely in time to evade a bludger.

It was five minutes later that Harry saw the Snitch innocently flying in the bottom of the pitch. He immediately banked, rolled and dived to it with maximum speed he could get from the Firebolt. He didn't hear Chang following him hot in his heels, but he knew that she did. Fortunately, her broom was massively outclassed.

In that moment, Harry heard someone screaming on his left and glanced to that side.

_Dementors. Only four of them, fortunately._

He immediately blanked his emotions and focused his attention on the Snitch. ___Dementors or not, I would not let someone beat me to the Snitch a second time!_

Ten meters. Five. He reached out with his right arm. One meter. The Snitch, feeling him approach, tried to climb higher, dodging him, but it was too late for that. Harry grabbed the winged sphere and got out of the dive. He looked to the point where he had seen the dementors previously and saw them scattered and running from a brilliant white phoenix. ___Wait a second. Running?_

Harry narrowed his eyes, looking at the fleeting figures. ___Dementors glide, they don't run. And certainly they don't stumble and fall, obstructed by their cloaks. It seems that someone decided to joke by donning dementor-ish cloaks and coming to the match._

Harry flew closer to them and, taking his wand out, sent a spell at the figure running at the head. The mild stinging hex caught him in the leg and he went down with a loud curse.

The other two tried to help the downed co-conspirators, but the time needed for that was denied to them. Professor McGonagall arrived at the scene. A few moments later, Harry was enjoying the sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Flint being chewed out and assigned a month of detention with Filch each.

The mood in the aftermath of the victory was high. The team was shining with glee at the finally won Cup, and Wood was crying. Actually **crying **tears of manly pride. Harry could not decide if that was more touching or disturbing. As it was Oliver's last year in Hogwarts and he was already set on going pro after graduation, Harry went with "touching".

The trio was walking to school, discussing the game or (in Hermione's case) ranting about Malfoy's foul play.

"Mione, he's a Malfoy – foul play is his middle name," Ron joked. Harry nodded seriously, glancing at the Whomping willow that they were currently passing.

"Yeah, it's kind of funny... Ron, behind you!" he shouted, reaching for his wand. A huge black dog was running straight at them, and if the look in its eyes was a clue, its intention was not to cuddle and ask for a treat.

"What the..." Harry was too slow. The dog torpedoed him to the port side, tackling him to the ground. Then it bit Ron's leg and unceremoniously started to drag him to the willow. Both Harry and Hermione tried to outrun it, but the beast was surprisingly fast and always kept Ron between them and it, so they wouldn't dare use magic. Finally, it came closer to the Willow, and the homicidal tree – to Harry's great surprise – didn't react to it. In fact, it acted as if it was paralysed. The dog and Ron vanished from view in a tunnel underneath the Willow, while Harry remained where he stood, cautiously watching the Willow. It didn't give any signs of life.

Harry breathed in and out and ever so slowly edged to the tunnel. The tree remained still. He glanced towards Hermione; she nodded. Harry threw to the wind all the notions of being careful and quickly entered the gaping hole.

"_Lumos."_

The tunnel was rather dry; judging by the ground, it was well-used.___Strange. It seems that I have found another secret entrance to the grounds; but who used it? Black?_ On this thought Harry tightened his grip on the wand and quickened his pace. Hermione was walking a couple of steps behind him.

It took forever to reach the end of the tunnel. Finally, they found themselves in a... dwelling. A really shabby house with signs of damage everywhere they could see. Here and there was a large dent in a wall showing that something or someone crashed into it with great force; a door of a shelf was nearly torn away, hanging on a single bolt; there were long and deep gashes on the floor showing that a large animal with **very **sharp claws was here. When Harry thought about it, they were heading underground towards the Hogsmeade. That meant...

"Shrieking Shack," he said quietly. "We're in the Shrieking Shack."

In the dim light of his wand he could see Hermione pale. Harry smiled at her in reassurance, but it didn't help matters. Probably because Harry himself needed it. The boy glanced around and made to step towards the closest door, but then he heard a groan from the corridor behind the door furthest from the entrance.

Harry held up his left hand, pointed at himself and at that door. Hermione nodded. Harry pointed at her and gestured to stay there. She protested silently, but Harry glared at her and she nodded. The boy smiled slightly and slowly crept towards the corridor.

He was sneaking through the Shack towards the door from which the groans were coming. Levelling his wand at it, he smirked.

_"Depulso____."_

The old door, barely held upright by the rusted hinges, didn't have a snowball's chance in hell. The spell that Harry learned to have something to throw at Black in the next meeting blew it to small parts that were thrown inside the room with dangerous velocity. Harry heard two cries and looked inside, not lowering his guard for a second.

Ron was lying on a half-crushed bed, nursing a wounded and, judging by the unnatural angle it was bent in, broken leg. It seemed he was missed by the flying debris, but nevertheless he looked very frightened. The other person was slowly raising from the ground, groaning and shaking himself. Harry slowly backed from the man, muttering:

"___Petrificus Totalus._"

The spell was thrown in the man's back. He was unprepared and shaken from the explosion and the fall. Harry didn't expect him to dodge.

Do you know the saying: "Expect the unexpected"?

The man rolled to the right in a perfect evasion. The petrifying spell hit the floor and fizzled out.

The man turned to him.

Last time, Harry didn't get a good look at Black – not really. He recognized him, true, but in the darkness of the dorm the murderer was barely visible. Now he could see him clealy.

He looked... haggard and worn. One hundred percent the convict that escaped from the Hell on Earth that was Azkaban. For a moment, the boy felt a sliver of pity for the man, followed by a half-forgotten memory of a funny man that turned into a dog...

___Wait a minute. Animagus?_

"So we meet at last," he said slowly, feeling a bit like a cartoon villain.

"Harry," Black rasped. He looked at the boy and tried to smile. "You look exactly like your father... but with your mother's eyes."

"I get that a lot," Harry answered neutrally, looking at Ron and checking if he's able to move. He wasn't – however, he gestured to just leave him there for a time being. Harry would have none of it.

"I'd really like you to stay and have a chat, but I believe you are being late for a date with a dementor," Harry told Black. The man couldn't help but shudder and glare at him.

"I won't return to Azkaban, kid. Not until I find him."

"That's right – you won't. It's a Kiss on sight for you, scum," Harry whispered venomously, raising his wand. "Now, you either come with me quietly or I'll force you."  
"You? Force me?" he seemed terribly amused.

"Give me a reason, Black, I beg you..." Harry said quietly. Black laughed – it sounded like a bark.

"Look, kid, you may be the son of James, but you're a student. You're outclassed."

"Think whatever you like.___Petrificus Totalus__._"

He turned to the side, letting the spell pass him by an inch.

"And that is all you know?" he sounded disappointed.

"Everything else is lethal," Harry deadpanned. "Like I said – go quietly, Black."

He barked a laugh, but quickly grew serious.

"Fine. The traitor isn't here after all. The pathetic coward ran like he always did. I just wanted to see you before leaving. Bye, kid. We'll meet again. You are, after all, my godson."

And before the boy could say a spell, Black turned into a grim and escaped the room though a little hole in the wall.

"DAMN IT!" Harry ran to the gap and looked through. It lead outside – and he could see Black running away from the Shack. Away from Hogwarts.

Running away from Harry.

"Bloody, buggering hell! He ran!" Harry hit the wall and started swearing. After a couple of minutes, when most of his anger left him, he sighed and turned towards Ron, who still sat on the bed, waiting patiently.

"Are you done?" the redhead asked. Harry nodded. "Good. Can you help me up? The bastard broke my leg!"

Harry sat near Ron, examining said limb. Steps nearby told him that Hermione finally decided to abandon her post and come and look what happened.

"Harry? I heard screams... Ron! Are you okay?" she ran to them and gasped at the sight of Ron's leg. It wasn't pretty, that much was true.

"We need to get him to madam Pomfrey! Let's go..." she grabbed Ron's hand and tried pull him to the door. Harry immediately objected.

"Stop! Don't be ridiculous – it'll be one hell of a painful trip for him. We'll have to levitate him," Hermione blushed, chagrined.

"Sorry. I didn't think.___Mobilicorpus._"

"That would be a first. Well, we all have our moments." Ron said philosophically while being lifted from the ruined bed. Harry snorted and looked around.

"I saw him drag you under that blasted tree, let it rot, but what happened after that?"

The trio proceeded to walk to the tunnel – Harry being the vanguard, Ron floating in the middle and Hermione bringing up the rear. After a couple of minutes Harry reminded Ron that he was asked a question.

"He just dragged me into the Shack, transformed, started to babble something about the betrayer and how he was too late to do anything about him..."

"You? He targeted you?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Well, I don't know. He suddenly stopped talking, told me to keep quiet and lie still. Then he crept to the door and then... well..."

"Knock-knock," Harry commented dryly.

"Yep. A piece of wood embedded itself into the bed right next to my head and another knocked the air out of me. Mate, you almost killed me!"

"Harry! You didn't..."

"Note to self: don't use destructive spells when you don't know whether your friends will be friendly-fired," Harry said weakly.

"Harry James Potter!"

"Oh look, we are already there!" he told her with faux cheerfulness.___She will absolutely murder me later, I know it, but I'm all for delaying the execution._"Let's just hope that the tree is still, well,******still**, or we're stuck here..."

Unfortunately, whatever held the Willow in place must have taken a holiday and bought a ticket to Mediterranean Sea, because they could hear the groaning of the cursed plant. Harry cautiously approached the exit of the tunnel, gesturing for Ron and Hermione to be quiet – not that they needed the reminder. The boy looked trough the entrance hole and immediately jumped back, as a branch of the tree flew with a lethal velocity through the spot where his head had been the second before. Harry leaned back from the danger and suddenly slipped on the wet grass.

His arse met the ground with abandon that wouldn't be out of place at a meeting of long-lost best friends, and the back of his head enthusiastically greeted a strange lump on the wall of the tunnel.

"Argh! Damn it!" Harry blinked off a few tears and tried to come to his senses.

"That looked like it hurt," Ron said sympathetically.

"It did... Ouch!" Harry wobbled to his feet and rubbed the tender area on his kettle.

"So, the Willow is active, I take it?" Hermione inquired impatiently.

"Yeah, it... hang on a second" Harry paused and listened.

No groaning.

He ever-so-slowly looked out, ready to duck at a moment's notice.

The tree was silent.

"It looks like it's paralysed again. I think it's safe," the boy said uncertainly. Ron asked:

"Are you sure? Maybe it just lays in wait?"

Harry looked at the tree carefully. It was completely still. He shrugged and after a moment of deliberation stood up and walked out of the tunnel.

"Harry, are you crazy? Get back!" he heard Hermione say frantically. He smiled and called back:

"Come on! It's fine!"

After a couple of minutes, a bunch of curses and a couple of bruises Hermione managed to levitate Ron through the relatively small entrance. By the end of the procedure Ron was swearing up and down that he would never trust Hermione with levitating him again. Hermione in retaliation reminded him that his own levitation skills were inadequate at best.

"My levitating skills are **stunning**, woman!" Ron grumbled good-naturedly while they were walking towards the castle.

"Ron, you got a Troll for it," Harry added, throwing a teasing smirk at him.

The resulting laugh was suddenly silenced. They shuddered from the sudden cold.

"I think we need to hurry to the castle. It's becoming cold out here," Hermione said.

"Far too cold," Harry muttered, looking around nervously and quickening his pace. The chill was unmistakable – the dementors were on the prowl.

"Where were they when Black was here?" The boy asked nobody in particular, starting to run and turning his head slightly to keep Hermione and Ron in his sight. The feeling of hopelessness was increasing rapidly, and he had to forcibly blanket my emotions. "Now that the bastard's gone, they appear... oh Merlin."

Between the trio and their goal there must have been a hundred of bastards. They were silent, hanging in the air still as statues, their cloaks billowing in ethereal wind. It was like they were taunting them – come on, try and get past us. Harry winced and fell to his knees, barely managing to keep hold of his consciousness, the pleas of his mother sounding as clearly to him as if she stood right behind them.

Harry could see the castle entrance. It was tauntingly close. So close... and yet so far.

Harry had to push on the ground with his left hand to keep himself from completely falling. He was helpless – and **they **didn't even directly focus on him! The boy sneaked a glance at Ron and Hermione. They were extremely pale, but stood upright, completely lucid.

In that moment, in the strange mix of hopelessness, fear and protective detachment that was his current emotional condition, appeared a new ingredient that only occasionally (in situations like this, to be exact) made a visit.

Resolve.

Harry grit his teeth. He raised the eleven inches of holly with the phoenix feather core – however shakily – and forced himself to remember the happiest memories of his short life. Memories that featured two people that were right next to him in the cold field. Two people that he **had** to protect.

Emotion. Focus. Intent. Incantation.

"_Expecto Patronum."_

A wisp of silver smoke blew from his wand, creating a mist-like shield between him and the... demons. It was insufficient. He had to do better.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

Another wisp came out – this one much more condesced. The misty shield now almost completely obscured the dementors, muting their effects to a level when Harry could deal with it.

Breath in. Breath out.

_Memories – flashes of friendship, of belonging._

_Emotion – happiness, joy, feeling of having a place that I could call home._

_Intent – I will protect those who gave me these memories. I will not let them be touched!_

Incantation.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_"

A translucent dome rose from his wand, surrounding the trio with an impenetrable wall of light.

"Go, go, go!"

Hermione snapped out of her trance and hurriedly levitated Ron. She ran forward and Harry followed with his wand raised and maintaining the shield around them.

They ran towards the entrance – and, coincidentally, towards the dementors. Madness, you say? Maybe it was...

Anyway, they ran through the crowd of soul-suckers as fast as they were able to – Hermione slowing down a bit so that Harry could keep up (running with a shield was like running with someone sitting on you).

And then the dementors started the attack.

One would crush into the dome, trying to get to the children, and would be repelled with a flash of light, shrieking, only for another to try. The blows weren't felt by Harry, fortunately; otherwise they wouldn't survive there. But the chaos around them was disrupting his focus and those who tried to come through the front of the dome obstructed the view of their path to the slightly open gates.

It was only a couple of hundred steps, but when the trio finally entered the castle, closed the doors and Harry let go of the Patronus, they felt like they have just ran a Marathon.

"Do you think I should write a complaint about the dementors?" Harry asked when he got his breath again.

"Please do," Ron grumbled. "Now, can we go to Pomfrey? My leg is hurting and I want a chocolate."

Harry and Hermione chuckled weakly to this response, so typically Ron, and got up.

******A week later, the Minister's office**

"Albus, do you realize the consequences of a screw up of this magnitude? Wait, don't answer: of course you realize them! We have been working with foreign schools for five years! **Five**! You know they will refuse to cooperate if you will unearth our newest dirty laundry..." Cornelius Fudge ranted, trying to persuade the old warlock. The warlock in question only smiled merrily.

"I wouldn't say that they will refuse; I believe that it would prove advantageous to tell them that we need another year to make sure everything goes according to plan."

The minister stopped his nervous pacing and his face brightened considerably.

"Yes, great idea, Albus! We can spin that as us wishing to ensure the safety of their students... But what of Black? You believe that he will return to the school and despite that..."

"Dementors are more of a security hazard than an escaped convict," Albus interrupted him with distaste in his voice. "I believe that it would be better for all if you sent an Auror squad as I suggested previously."

Before the minister could object, he added:

"And think what would happen if young Harry wouldn't be able to hold his shield for as long as he could."

Fudge blanched. To say that indirectly causing the Boy-Who-Lived to suffer a fate worse than death would be disastrous for his career would be a big understatement.

The pudgy man sat down and sighed.

"So, you suggest that we postpone the Triwizard Tournament to the next year and station Aurors at Hogwarts so that Black doesn't escape next time."

"Yes. I believe you have enough on your plate with the Quidditch Cup, Cornelius," Albus said, his eyes twinkling a bit. Fudge grumbled, looking warily at the huge pile of documents on his table.

"You have no idea, Albus. Bagman is starting to drive me up the wall; if I didn't have Barty to keep him somewhat in check, I'm afraid I would be in St. Mungus long-term ward by now..."

"Yes, well, Ludo was always enthusiastic when it came to sports," the Headmaster answered merrily, getting up and dusting his robes (emerald-green with polka dots). "If there's nothing else, have a good day, Cornelius."

The remaining of the year was relatively quiet: with Dumbledore banishing the dementors all the occupants of the castle could breathe freely. The moment the foul beings left the grounds, the castle got warmer, and not only temperature-wise. For a couple of days after that most of the students were walking the halls with stupid grins on their faces.

Instead of the dementors, the school received the Auror guards; six men with grim faces were patrolling the castle at night. Judging by their expressions, they didn't particularly enjoy this assignment, but it was hardly relevant.

The exams came and passed. Harry and Ron damn near cracked under the amount of studying that Hermione unleashed upon them; but in the end, they were more or less grateful for this. For a couple of days after the exams the boys had to suffer Hermione's constant rants with a leitmotif "what if we failed something?", but on the third day Harry snapped and told her that she should stop having a breakdown for no reason at all... well, OK, it was a teensy bit ruder than that, but it got a point across. When in his counter-rant he likened her to Lavender or Parvati who liked to throw hysterics over pointless things, she got terrified by the comparison and after the boys assured her she wasdoing exactly the same thing, she swore to never do that again.

Hermione really didn't like those two girls.

Another event of interest happened in the 1st of June, when Harry was relaxing by the lake after the Transfiguration exams. Hermione and Ron were currently in the library, as Hermione wanted to check if she had gotten the right answers to some questions and roped Ron into going with her.

So, Harry was lying under the tree on the shore of the lake, listening to the sound of water and slowly drifting to sleep, when he was suddenly addressed.

"Harry Potter?"

He opened his left eye and looked up. A blonde girl stood near him.___What was her name? Moon? No... ah, Luna._

"Luna, right?" She nodded. "What can I do for you?"

She blinked.

"You can do a lot of things. I think that you wouldn't do many of them, however," was the serene answer.

Harry snorted and opened his right eye.

"Cheeky. Did that girl leave you alone?"

"She never hit me again."

Luna stood there with her head tilted slightly to the side. Harry sat up.

"Hm. Did anyone else hit you?"

She shook her head and fiddled with a loose strand of her hair.

"You shouldn't sit near the lake," she said suddenly. "The Blistering Humdingers like damp places."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"And they are?"

"You don't know?" she asked him, aghast. It was the first time that she spoke in a tone other than serene. "The Quibbler wrote a lot about them in September. Do you want to read it?"

"Um... it depends on if they are real or not," Harry answered warily.

"What is the difference?" she asked seriously. He didn't find a reply to that.

"Oh-cay. Fine, I'll bite. But can it wait? I wanted to spend this day without having to read another word."

"Oh. Well, you can read it later, I suppose," she sat down near him and he lied down again, closing his eyes. For a couple of minutes, they sat there in a comfortable silence. Finally, he asked:

"Are you not afraid of Humdangers yourself?"

"Humdingers. And no, they are afraid of radishes, so we are safe for the moment," ___Ah, her earrings..._Harry smiled lazily.

"Makes sense, I guess."

After another minute of silence the boy glanced at her with one eye.

"Are you here because of me being the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"No. You are just like this tree in the winter, you know."

With that she got up. Harry blinked at her.___What was that supposed to mean?_

"I'll pass the Quibbler to you on the Hogwarts express," she twirled on her toes and left skipping. He watched her with a puzzled expression as she vanished.

___That is an odd one. But not in a bad way, I suppose._

The Hogwarts express left the Hogsmeade station. Harry looked out of the window, saying a silent goodbye to the village and the castle. It would be another long summer without them.___Well, at least I will have the letters from my friends. And Lupin, I hope._

In the last week before the end of the term Snape let it slip that Lupin was a werewolf. Because of that the DADA professor had to resign before he was made to by the hundreds of angry parents. Harry could understand that – and he was damn angry at the greasy git for ousting the best Defense teacher they ever had. He managed to teach a third-year to do a Patronus, for Merlin's sake!

In their last talk, Lupin – or Moony, as he had asked Harry to call him – promised him to write from now on. He was (understandably so) extremely interested in his talk with Black. After the retelling, he sat quietly for a long time, after which muttering that something was amiss. In Harry's opinion, if something was missing, it was Black's sanity.

The door of the cabin slid open, the sound pulling the boy from my thoughts. Luna stood there with a huge pack of old newspapers in her hands.

"Hey, Luna. You brought the Quibbler, I assume?" Harry asked and gestured for her to come in. She did so.

"Yes. I have marked the most interesting issues so that you can read them first," she passed the papers, which Harry, after a short deliberation, put in the food packet – already empty no thanks to Ron.

"Thanks. I will need some light reading in the summer, otherwise I'll go nuts," Harry weighted the packet appreciatively.

Both Ron and Hermione directed the "what the hell?" looks at him.

"Mate, you really want to read the whole summer?" Ron asked after swallowing the last sandwich.

"Positive. Well, not ******all **summer, but occasionally. There's not much to do at the Privet Drive."

"Harry, if you needed some reading, you could have read something factual," Hermione noted with disapproval. "The Quibbler writes about things no one has ever seen – no offence," she apologized hurriedly, realizing just who was in the cabin.

"None taken. And if seeing is believing, then maybe believing is needed to see?" Luna asked in a detached voice.

Looking at the stupefied faces of his friends, Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Luna, I think it is a start of a beautiful friendship."

The smile she gave him in answer was nothing short of brilliant.


	8. The Quidditch Excitement

**Author's note**

Sorry for the long wait. My beta is busy, so this chapter is edited by yours truly. As a compensation of sorts, I've gone through the previous chapters and corrected an alarming amount of small mistakes. Nothing important, but nevertheless annoying as hell. In addition, all chapters except the first now feature short snippets in the beginning. Now, to the fourth year!

**There is no method to my madness, except to entertain!**

"_Master, how do I do this part?"_

"_Try layering runes."_

"_I don't know where to start with things like that!"_

"_Then, my temporary apprentice, I have only one word for you.__** IMPROVISE!**__"_

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Quidditch Excitement**

* * *

** Two days before the Cup, #4 Private Drive**

Harry woke up with a start, taking shallow breaths and shaking slightly. _That nightmare was easily one of the most vivid I had ever had. _He shook himself mentally and tried to calm down. _Breath in. Breath out. Blank your feelings. Clear your mind._ After a minute the emotional turmoil left him. Harry glanced at his watch – it was half past six. He cracked his neck and with a groan got up from the bed.

_If I'm up, I can as well get to work. _His plans were made, the needed information gathered from Neville, professor Sprout, and months of watching the market. Now it was time to enter the financial world – and enter it with a bang.

"Happy birthday to me."

Exactly twenty minutes later he crept out of the house, not willing to wake up the Dursleys and face a shouting match. He dragged his trunk behind him, trying as hard as possible to stay silent.

After he closed the door behind me, he grinned, turned around and whipped out his wand.

**BANG**

The Knight Bus appeared not two seconds after he summoned it. That was to be expected, though.

What was NOT expected was that the bus appeared directly in the Dursleys' front garden, squashing aunt Petunia's favourite roses, ruining the lawn and absolutely destroying the fence.

Harry gaped at the destruction that he inadvertently caused._ Vernon is so going to kill me... or not_. The boy grinned diabolically and started walking towards the opening doors of the bus.

_How will he kill me if I will be nowhere near him for at least a year?_

A couple of minutes later Harry was standing near the Leaky Cauldron, breathing in and out to calm down his nerves and intestines. _I __**hate **__the magical travel. It never agrees with me._

The boy grumbled and entered the inn. There was almost no one inside, except Tom and a couple of witches that were talking quietly in the corner. He dragged the trunk inside and walked to the bald wizard, who currently was cleaning the tables with well-practiced motions of his wand.

"Morning, Tom. I have an appointment in Gringotts, and didn't think to leave my things at my friend's house. Would it be okay if I left it here somewhere for the morning?"

Tom looked up and shrugged.

"Sure, no problem. Put it behind the stand."

"Thanks."

Harry did as he was told to and entered the Diagon Alley. It was seven twenty, and if he remembered correctly, Gringotts opened at seven. The boy marched to the white marble building and opened the doors, nodding to the (slightly groggy) goblins that stood guard near the entrance, receiving a nod in answer. From what he read about goblins, they valued gold more than anything. And time was gold, as is widely known, so in their opinion a person was polite if he or she didn't waste the goblin's time any more than absolutely needed.

Harry walked to the closest teller. The big-nosed creature was shuffling his papers and grumbling something in Gobbledegook under his nose.

"My name is Harry Potter and I have an appointment with Secondary Overseer Tearshape," Harry told him, not bothering with greetings. The teller looked at him, grunted in acknowledgement, turned to his left and shouted in Gobbledegook. After that he resumed sorting his papers.

Harry waited for a minute before he was approached by a rather tall goblin with very intelligent eyes and a gruesome looking scar that crossed his face from his left eye to the right corner of the goblin's wide mouth.

"Mr. Potter. I wasn't expecting you this early," he said in an even voice, but Harry could detect a faint note of irritation from him.

"I thought that I should start as early as possible. Time is money," the boy answered tersely. It seemed that his answer satisfied him, as the goblin grunted in agreement and, gesturing for Harry to follow him, started to walk to the carts.

The trip to the vault was as exhilarating as always. When we got to the destination, Harry had a wide smile on my face.

"Blast, why don't wizards make their transportation comfortable and/or exciting, without the nausea inducing? You goblins have succeeded in it," Harry noted. Tearshape shrugged.

"If you ask me, they are quite lazy sort. Their golden rule is 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'," he answered curtly and started to knock on various places of the fortified door with his claw. After ten knocks the door made a couple of loud bangs, a screech of moving metal and finally opened with a moaning groan.

Harry grinned and entered the family vault.

Well, it certainly had gold. In that moment, the only two things that stopped the boy from jumping into a pile of galeons and making an angel was a) the fact that it would be incredibly childish, and b) it would be quite painful.

Harry looked around appreciatively. It wasn't just gold that was there – he could see some chests along the far wall, a rack with swords, a dresser, a mirror and some portrait frames. He walked there and peered at the names on them. Ancestors of his, it seemed – five Potters, a couple of Derends, a Longbottom and a Black. Hm.

After the portraits it was time for the chests to be examined. _Books – and they look positively ancient. Family library, maybe?_

The dresser contained some dress robes – extremely fancy ones. Frankly, he thought that these were made to show them as art pieces, not wear them. Harry closed the dresser and approached the mirror cautiously – his experiences with the Erised made him wary around the mirrors of magical origin.

He gazed in the surface. It showed nothing.

"Well, what are you supposed to be?" Harry mused aloud, searching the silvery, delicate-looking frame for a clue. There wasn't an answer. He shrugged and left it alone.

_Well, now that I browsed my property, I've got a scheme to execute._

**Fifteen minutes later, Gringotts London, Private room #5**

"...and then we sell it at the same time to all three of them, possibly getting about 50% of our investments as pure profit," he finished. He was sitting in a well-lit room for business negotiations, and he had just explained his cunning plan to completely dominate the plant markets of Magical Britain and France to Tearshape, who was looking at him with an expression that he interpreted as thoughtful. After a minute of silence the goblin's face changed to a wide grin and he made a hearty chuckle.

"Yes, it would work. I remember hearing about a similar scheme being implemented in Japan, but it was done with magical metals."

Harry exhaled.

"So you approve?"

Tearshape nodded.

"I do. Your information eases the time I will need to spend gathering the data required at least twice, and I know just a person we can approach to lower our expenses during the first stage. The most important thing in these machinations is the timing: we have to buy or sell in just the right moments, when the price is at its lowest or highest respectively. The best part of your plan is that we know the correct time beforehand and make adjustments if needed."

Harry rose from the table.

"Well, I have told you what I want you to do. Just out of curiosity, how much will you get out of it?"

Tearshape took a thick file of paper out of his desk.

"The standard fee is ten percent of the profits," he answered, opening the file and shuffling through it. Harry smirked.

"Well, if the profit of my scheme is 45% or more, your share will be thirteen. If it is more than 50%, you get fifteen."

Tearshape stared at the boy. Harry could almost hear the goblin's brains calculate the projected benefit. When his eyes got a greedy glint, Harry knew he had him.

"I will make it 60. Will I get twenty five in that case?"

"Seventeen," Harry immediately countered.

"Twenty two percent and nothing less," Tearshape said, his fingers moving in a distinctly disconcerting manner – like he was stabbing, screwing or tearing something apart at the same time.

"Nineteen percent. That seems acceptable to me," Harry stated.

"Very well. Twenty it is," Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't object as Tearshape took a roll of parchment and started to write on it with an exquisite quill, periodically humming or muttering in Gobbledegook. Harry waited patiently, idly looking around._ I wonder how many deals were made in this room, how many fortunes were created or ruined... From what I gather, Gringotts has been around for about five hundred years, so the number must have many zeros._

Finally Tearshape was done, and Harry grabbed the contract. He had already read a comprehensive tome about the most common tricks of goblins, and he had no wish to be ripped off.

"A-ha. You have an... error here," he gave the parchment back and pointed at the place. Tearshape's left eyebrow slowly crept up.

"Mister Potter, I believe I'm going to enjoy working with you."

**Half an hour later, the Burrow**

Harry flew out of the Floo faster than a Malfoy from a muggle mall. Fortunately, his flight was not obstructed and he crash-landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs and baggage.

"Damn it," he groaned, slowly coming to his senses and attempting to figure out if he still had all his appendages in working condition. "It was downright **lethal.**"

Harry heard steps from the kitchen and managed to rise to his feet when Mrs. Weasley came into view.

"Harry, dear! How was the trip?" she asked, hugging him with the unrelenting force of an industrial press. He couldn't stifle a wince, but she didn't see it.

"Awful," he croaked. "I don't know what great sin I committed in my last life, but both the Floo and the Knight Bus are certainly out for my blood. I probably burned little buses in little Floos or something equally horrible."

"Oh, poor dear. Well, come to the kitchen! Everyone will come down in a minute. Oh, and leave your things by the stairs, you and Ron will take them up afterward."

"Okay," he shrugged and lifted my trunk and bags. He dragged them to the staircase and dropped everything near the first step.

He sat in the kitchen, watching Mrs. Weasley preparing the meal with a slightly frightening speed. _Comes with experience, I guess. _Harry briefly wondered if he would be that good by the graduation – he didn't see himself trusting the elves with preparing his food in the near future, although the little buggers somehow did manage to worm their way into his heart. They were just so damn loveable. Plus he started to miss eating in the Great Hall – the excited murmuring of the first years, the slightly hysterical tones of fifth and seventh year students, the benevolent gaze of Dumbledore as he, as an old king, sat in his throne and watched over his dominion. And the ceiling. Can't forget the ceiling. When it was sunny, it was all he could do not to get out of school and go to his favourite spot near the lake. _It is rather sunny now, come to think of it, and there is a pond nearby..._

In other astrological news, judging from the thundering stampede that would put a rhinoceros herd to shame coming from the stairs, there were gingers incoming.

The first to come into Harry's view was Percy. The Perfect Prefect nodded to him curtly and sat at the corner of the table. He was followed by Fred and George, who greeted Harry enthusiastically. Ginny and Ron were next, coming into kitchen and arguing about Quidditch. When she saw the guest, Ginny immediately stopped talking and waved at him shyly. When he smiled and nodded in answer, she went beet red. _Well, at least she doesn't employ the 'squick-and-run' tactics anymore. Those were annoying._

"Hey, mate," Ron fell on the chair next to him. "How's it?"

"Good so far," Harry shrugged. "I've got a go ahead about my business scheme, I will be a bit richer soon enough and a couple of people will enjoy a drop in their income."

"You sure?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"I fool-proofed it, made contingency plans for each and every possible hiccup and even if it comes to worst, I will be able to return my investments. Heads – I win, tails – they lose," he grinned savagely. The sheer amount of time he spent making plans, counter-measures, predicting the possible missteps and double-checking the data was absolutely ridiculous. Basically, every time he went to sleep since January, he thought about it.

"It will either make you a couple more enemies while making you a bit richer, or spectacularly blow up in your face," Ron said in the nth time, shaking his head. Harry glanced at him, bemused.

Yes, Harry told Ron about his plan despite money being a big sore point for his friend. The only reason Ron wasn't in an awful mood for the second half of the school year was that Harry presented it to him as a plan to hit Lucius Malfoy where it hurts in retaliation for the diary incident. Ron may grumble a lot about his family and he may snap at the twins and Percy, but he loved his sister and would do anything to the bastard that almost got her killed. Granted, he didn't know that Malfoy probably won't even notice the small dent in his income, being as rich as he was, and also not having invested all that much into magical plant business.

"Malfoys are already my enemies. And for a hundreds time, it **won't **blow up."

"Uh, Harry? What are you two talking about?" Fred asked, looking from Ron to him. Harry shared a look with Ron. He silently signalled to deal with it himself. Harry sighed and chose the wording.

"Gentlemen, I'll put it this way: Malfoy Senior is in for a big prank."

The twins grinned simultaneously. Percy threw a calculating look at him. Ginny seemed interested, while Mrs. Weasley looked at him with faint disapproval.

"Harry, you have to keep far from that man. If you openly oppose him, he will respond in kind."

That thought cut him short. _They say that turnaround is fair play... I'll need to make sure that my own assets cannot be harmed in the same manner._ Harry pondered this as Mrs. Weasley put the food on the table.

"I'll need to visit Tearshape again. Maybe after the Cup?" Harry mused. That quickly turned the conversation towards the Quidditch.

The World Cup was scheduled to begin the next evening, and seeing that Mr. Weasley somehow procured the tickets, they were moving out at six in the morning. Harry wasn't all that happy about waking up in such an ungodly hour, but as they say, no pain – no gain. So the cool morning of the 1st of August he was walking zombie-style besides Ron, grumbling a bit and forcing at least one of his eyes to open from time to time if he started to stumble. After half an hour of dragging their sleepy arses along with Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Percy, Hermione and Ginny they finally stopped at the top of a small hill.

"Now, where is it?" Mr. Weasley wondered, looking around. "Finding it is always the difficult part..."

"I've got it!" a voice called from the other side of the mist-covered hill. After a moment, a rather... round man came into visibility. His face was way more cheerful that it had any right to be, considering the weather and the time. In his hands he was carrying... an old boot?

"Morning, Amos. Sure that's it?" Mr. Weasley greeted him. The man – Amos – nodded.

"Yes, I've already checked. It was Cedric that found it, actually. Cedric! Come here, I've found the Weasleys!"

The next person to come out of the mist was Cedric Diggory – the Hufflepuff Seeker. Incidentally, the one and only guy that ever got the Snitch before Harry, dementor induced faint or not. Harry nodded to him, which the boy returned with a smile.

"Everyone, this is Amos Diggory. I assume that you know his son, Cedric?"

The children nodded. Mr. Diggory shook Harry's hand enthusiastically.

"Cedric told me about you. He beat you this year, didn't he?" he asked cheerfully. Harry's eye twitched and he threw Cedric a dirty look. He shrugged apologetically and mouthed: 'Dads'.

"Well, we **did **have dementors on the field that day, and they caused me to pass out right in the middle of the chase after the Snitch. I don't know who would win, but it would be a really close thing regardless. I'm looking forward to this year's match," Harry stated, deciding to throw a bone to Cedric. Besides, that was actually the truth. Diggory Senior waved him off.

"Well, Ced always was one of the best, so don't feel bad that he has got one over the Boy-Who-Lived."

The Weasleys – aside from Mr. Weasley and Percy – had rather angry expressions on their faces. Cedric looked as if he really wanted to become invisible. Harry narrowed his eyes, but decided to let it go for now.

"So," he said instead, "How are we getting there?"

"We will use this," Amos Diggory gestured at the boot in his hands.

"And... how exactly will we use it?" Harry prompted. Mr. Weasley started explaining.

"This is something called portkey. It is a magical method of transportation suitable for groups of people. In approximately," he glanced at his watch, "a couple of minutes it will go to the Cup camp, taking us along. Now, touch it with a finger."

Everyone complied, gathering in a circle around the old piece of footwear and touching it with a finger. Despite all of Harry's exposure to magic, it was a rather surreal scene.

"Amos, there aren't anybody who's supposed to use this portkey and is late?" Mr. Weasley asked. Diggory shook his head.

"Nope, Lovegoods are there for a week already, Focett didn't get a ticket, and there ain't any others living here."

After a short wait the boot started to glow faintly, and in another second Harry felt as if he was lifted and dragged in the air by his navel and rolled around with a speed that was much, much higher than that of the Floo. The journey itself took maybe five seconds, but they far eclipsed his previous experiences with wizarding ways of travel.

He crashed hard on his legs and fell to his knees, dry-heaving. _Thank Merlin I didn't eat anything beforehand._

After he came around he shook his head and silently vowed that as soon as he finished the Arithmancy course he would invent a new method of quick transportation that wouldn't make a person feel like shite.

"Mate, you okay?" he heard Ron say. Harry nodded silently and got up, wincing at the protests of his leg joints. _Oh great, now it's not just my stomach._

"Yeah, more or less," he waved the concern off. Ron nodded.

"Move along now, the next one arrives in a couple of minute," someone said in a tired voice. Near the mist-covered clearing where the group appeared stood two irritated wizards. They obviously were trying to pass off as muggles - "trying" being the key word. After a moment Harry figured it likely they were from the Ministry, there to oversee the procedures. The more tired-looking grabbed the boot, tapped it with his wand and tossed into a rubbish bin, already containing some random pieces of crap, confirming that theory.

"Yes, of course, Basil. Don't mind telling us where to?" Diggory asked. The dishevelled worker nodded and opened an enormous parchment.

"Wait a bit... Diggory, Diggory, aha! Second field, that's over there, ask Mr. Pain. Next, Weasley – first field, a bit further than the second. Ask Mr. Roberts."

"Thank you. Let's go then," Mr. Weasley gestured for the rest to follow him.

They have been walking in the foggy field for at least twenty minutes before coming near a big... shack. In front of it stood a man, dressed like a muggle – and he didn't look like an absolute scarecrow, either, which made him either a muggleborn or a genuine muggle.

The company said goodbye to Mr. Diggory and Cedric – the first with less sincerity than the second one – and approached the man.

"Mr. Roberts, I assume?" Mr. Weasley asked genially. The man stopped gazing into the horizon and looked at him.

"Yes, it's me. You're with a reservation?" He asked, curiously looking from one to another in the little group.

"Of course. Weasley, made a couple of days ago," Mr. Roberts looked through the list that hanging on the door.

"A-ha... yes, everything seems in order. You rented a place near the forest. Cash now or later?"

"Ah... now, of course," Mr. Weasley nodded. He gestured for Harry to follow him and took rolled muggle money from his pocket.

"Help me out here," he asked quietly. Harry nodded and counted out the needed sum, then took it to the man, who watched the procedure with interest. Accepting the money, he grunted and asked:

"Are you all foreigners of some sort?"

"Pardon?" Mr. Weasley blinked. Mr. Roberts explained:

"You aren't the first to not figure out the money. A couple of lads ten minutes ago tried to pay me with gold coins the size of a wheel."

_ Ah, so he __**is **__a muggle._

"Oh, really?" Mr. Weasley grew very nervous. Mr. Roberts started to dig in his pockets for change.

"There never were any crowds here. Not this big. Hundreds of pre-orders. Usually people just come here..."

"Yes, yes, is everything in order?" Mr. Weasley interrupted, reaching for the change, but Mr. Roberts clearly wasn't in any hurry to part with it.

"Yes... so many people. A lot of foreigners. Not even foreigners as much as simply weird people. There's a guy hanging around in a kilt and poncho," he said pensively.

"What are you saying?"

"This looks like, I don't know... a gathering of sorts," Roberts continued. "And everybody knows each other, like they are one big company."

A wizard suddenly appeared right next to us. His outfit, fortunately, contained neither a kilt nor a poncho.

"_Obliviate,_" he stated firmly, pointing his wand at Roberts. The muggle's eyes went foggy for a couple of seconds and his face relaxed. Harry grimaced._ Mind-wipe. Absolutely disgusting, but evidently necessary._

"Here is the camp's map and your change," Mr. Roberts said in a peaceful tone.

"Thank you."

The wizard walked with us for a while. Frankly, he looked like shite: the shades under his eyes were a neat aquamarine colour, his stubble was obviously older than a couple of days, his clothes were ruffled. When we were far enough so that Mr. Roberts wouldn't here us, he complained quietly to Mr. Weasley:

"This guy is so much trouble! I have to obliviate him ten times a day! And Ludo Bagman isn't helping at all, just keeps running around the camp and blabbering about quaffles and bludgers, and screw the secrecy and all the trouble we've gone to for the anti-muggle contingencies. I can't wait till it will be over. Bye, Arthur, see you later."

The wizard vanished.

"Wait, isn't Mr. Bagman the Head of the Department of Magical Sport?" Ginny asked, surprised. "He has to know best not to disregard the security."

"He does know, of course," Mr. Weasley answered, chuckling. "But Ludo has always been... ah... negligent when it came to safety measures. But he loves his job, and you won't find another Head of that department as good as he is. He played for our national team, you know, and he was the best Beater we ever had."

They were walking in the rows of tents, watching the lone Ministry officials who were patrolling the camp. Few people were awake at this hour. Harry was looking around with his jaw on the ground: while some tents were pretty much regular-looking, others were anything but. One resembled a freaking castle with towers, a water trench and a bridge, another was **floating in the air**, the third one was a brightly coloured three floors monstrosity with peacocks walking around. And even those who decided to 'go muggle' did it with a predictable result. Or, rather, unpredictable.

During our short walk Harry saw a tent with a barbecue hanging from the door (don't ask), another had pipes sticking from random places, another had an absolutely ridiculous colour scheme that one wouldn't see even in Dumbledore's wardrobe and had a weather vane spinning wildly on the top.

"Your rants about the lack of common sense in wizards come to mind," Harry quietly murmured to Hermione, who, like him, looked at the stuff around with a mix of confusion and amusement. She snorted and gestured around.

"You know who they remind me? They are like kids who want to emulate the adults and put on clothes that are much bigger than them. Naturally, their attempts look ridiculous."

Harry laughed at that.

"Why, Hermione, I believe that you are a first muggle supremacist," he teased her. "'Bow before Muggles, you lowly purebloods'. Catchy, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't answer, though he could see a faint smile on her lips.

"Ah, it's here!" Mr. Weasley said, pointing at the pole in the ground with a sign that read 'Weasley'. "The best place possible – the pitch is on the other side of the forest. You can't get any nearer."

After half an hour of fumbling about with the tents they (read: the boys and Hermione) managed to set both of them up. Harry looked them over questioningly and shared a look with Hermione. Barring an extensive use of Space Expansion charms, he didn't see a way all ten of them would fit in. Mr. Weasley looked inside the tent and vanished in the entrance.

"A little cramped, but it will do for a night," his voice came out a bit muffled. "Take a look!"

Harry shrugged and entered the tent.

Well, the Space Expansion it was. He looked around, slightly confounded despite expecting something like this.

"I borrowed it from Perkins," Mr. Weasley said, wiping his head with a handkerchief and checking out the beds. "He works in my department, and he didn't need it anymore, poor guy."

He took a dusty kettle and looked inside.

"We will need water for the tea."

"There's a water source on the map that muggle gave us," Ron interjected. Mr. Weasley looked around and brought out a couple of buckets.

"How about you, Harry, Hermione and Ginny go and get us the water? Fred, George, you will look for some foliage in the forest for the fire."

"Um... Dad? Why do we have to do it on fire?" Ron asked, bewildered. Mr. Weasley grinned.

"Secrecy, of course! Muggles do it like that, so we have to do it as well," he beamed at them enthusiastically. To be completely truthful, he looked quite deranged in that moment.

After a short detour to the girls' tent, which was smaller, cleaner and didn't stink like a cat's backside, we started to walk to the water source. The camp was slowly waking up – we saw more and more people, mostly children, moving about. Harry snorted when he saw a four-year-old boy viciously kicking a snail with a wand – obviously, stolen from his father or mother. The snail was slowly growing under such treatment. He shook his head and looked at a company of black-skinned wizards in bright robes who sat around a bright purple fire and were cooking something that resembled a rabbit.

Finally, they came to where the source was. There already was a long queue.

"Ah, damn. We'll stay here for half-an-hour, minimum," Harry groaned. "And it's chilly."

"What do you propose, then?" Hermione asked. He smirked.

"Well, from what I've been told, the Ministry monitors the underage magic made by wand, but with all this," Harry gestured around. "their detectors are useless."

"Harry, it's stupid. You still can't know for sure," Hermione tried to reason. "Are you willing to bet on them not detecting your using the magic and expelling you from Hogwarts just for the sake of not staying in the queue for just half-an-hour?"

Harry barked a laugh and dropped his bucket on the ground.

"When you put it like that... Come on, what's life without a little risk? And I sincerely doubt they would expel me over something like this. Now, what was that incantation McGonagall told me? _Aqua Inundantia!"_

"Harry, WAIT!"

Hermione's shout came a bit too late. Harry's wand, pointed inside the bucket, expelled a huge amount of water in the space of a second. As the bucket was too small for the sheer amount of liquid that Harry was conjuring, all water that was inside was being pushed by the stream that Harry's wand spewed and immediately shot out of the small space. Some of it went directly at Harry's face, making him stop the spell out of surprise, but most of the water was spread in the radius of five meters from the ground zero.

"Holy shit!" Harry spat out a bit of water, his eyes wide in disbelief. "I did **not **intend that to happen!"

"Well, thank you very much for that!" someone called from behind him.

Harry whirled around. Right behind him stood a rather pretty brunette girl a couple of years older than him. She was looking at him with irritation. After a couple of seconds he noticed that her clothes had wet spots.

"Oh. Sorry for that, I didn't know it would be a large-scale conjuration," Harry rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Didn't know? Why then did you use the spell that you haven't used before?" the girl asked with a rather strange accent. Harry shrugged.

"I remembered that it would conjure water permanently and I didn't want to stay in the queue."

"Ah."

"Um... not to be rude, but who are you?" Ginny asked in a slightly rude tone.

"Ah, sorry. Name's Adel. Adel Voron."

The company introduced themselves. When Harry told her his name, he didn't get as much as a move of her eyes to show she recognized it. _Maybe where she came from I am relatively unknown?_

"Where are you from, Adel?" He asked her.

"I live on Cyprus," she answered, shrugging. "My school's there."

He noticed that she evaded the question, but let it go as unimportant. Hermione looked like she wanted to interrogate her about the school, and after a glance at the nearly empty buckets she immediately started asking questions. Harry shook his head slightly in exasperation, but still listened to Adel's explanations.

"Well, the school isn't in Cyprus, per se – it is built on a smaller island that was hidden from muggles. Most of the grounds are under the ocean – they are covered by an impenetrable barrier that wards the water off. It is beautiful in a sunny day – there is always colourful fish swimming above us, often even dolphins. Hogwarts is hidden as well, I take it?"

Twenty minutes later they were walking towards their side of the camp, as it appeared that Adel's tent was not far from ours.

Harry was listening to Adel describing her school with admiration in her voice. The Cypric Academy of Wizardry was huge – from her words, it housed nearly half of Eastern European muggleborns, while the purebloods applied at Durmstrang or Maggatorn (which was the Polish analogue of Durmstrang from what she said). The students from further south tended to go to one of the multiple Egyptian institutions. Also, Cyprus Academy was more than just a school - its students had the option to stay after the NEWTs and study further in any of the exotic subjects were taught there.

"Exotic?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Well, not 'exotic' as much as 'not taught widely': Dark Arts, blood magic, enchanting..."

"Dark Arts?" Hermione asked, horrified. "I thought that you said it was a school for muggleborn!"

Adel looked at her as if she was being stupid (which she admittedly was).

"So what? It is not a privilege of purebloods to use dark magic."

"Yes, but..." Hermione stammered. Adel shrugged and let it drop.

Finally, they reached their tent. After saying goodbye for now, Adel told them she'd come visit after the game, to which they agreed.

**The next day, 00.06**

"We are the champions... we are the champions..." Adel sang, swaying slightly. Harry did his level best to sing along, but seeing as he didn't know the lyrics, it was a bit difficult.

They were sitting by Adel's tent, while her three friends from school were talking to Hermione and Ginny. Mione was very, very interested in foreign education systems, and Sharad – an Indian boy with a roguish grin and an awkward accent – knew everything there was to know about that from his own search for optimal education. Unfortunately, he didn't know much English, and had to rely on Lucy – his girlfriend – to translate.

Oh, and they were all a bit tipsy. Firewhiskey does that to people. It was a good thing that Harry had decided to stop after his head grew heavier – he had no particular desire to experience the wonders of hangover.

Adel, however, was completely and utterly drunk.

"Your own... prsnal... Jesus... Someone to hear your prawears... someone who's thear..." she sang, alcohol wreaking havoc with her pronunciation. She hugged Harry with her left arm and leaned on him slightly.

"Hey, Harry... whatcha thinkin' about?" she asked and giggled. The boy shrugged, doing his best not to show just how the close proximity to her affected him.

"Nothing to worry about."

"Heh... don't worry, be happy, right?" she leaned a bit closer. _Damn. Note to self: drinking Firewhiskey does not good breath make. _"Y'know... there is something that would make me berrrry happy..."

"Oh yeah? And what is that?" he asked, looking at her warily. She giggled again.

Then she kissed him.

As far as the first kisses go, that one sucked worse than a leaky vacuum cleaner. She was drunk, Harry was inexperienced – not to mention that he felt as if someone brained him with a sack of sand (quite soft it may be, but it still knocks you out as a charm). But that **was** his first kiss, and he still enjoyed it, feeling as if there were tiny fireworks exploding behind his closed eyes.

It was a... serene moment.

And of course, it had to end violently.

In a couple of... minutes? Seconds? Harry understood that those explosions he kept hearing were not, in fact, the imaginary accompaniment of his first kiss. He tore himself from Adel's lips and stood up.

"Harry?" she asked, but he shushed her. There were shouts. A lot of shouts. Harry looked to the side, where others stood before. They weren't there. Harry frowned. _When did they leave?_

He walked to the path between the tents and looked to the left, from where the noise originated. There was an unmistakable light of the fires. That, together with the shouts and explosions, spelled Trouble. Harry turned to Adel.

"There's an attack. We need to get moving before the fire, or worse, reaches us."

She paled and got up, sobering a bit.

"I need to gather some things from the tent."

"Be quick," he told her. "I will shout if something happens."

With that, she run to her tent and Harry turned to the side from which the danger was coming. He took his wand out and leaned on the sign pole, watching out for anything suspicious.

He didn't have to wait long. About a dozen frightened people ran near him to the forest. Judging by their faces, the things were bad.

Harry glanced at the tent with worry. _Where was she? We need to move, and quickly._ He started to tap with my foot nervously.

"_Diffindo!_"

Harry had only a moment's notice to duck under the cutting hex. Somehow, he managed. Whirling to the side from where the spell came, he saw two men in black garb with masks resembling skulls about thirty meters from him and walking towards him with their wands aimed in his direction. _Well, it seems that trouble found me as usual. _His hand rose almost reflexively.

"_Incendio!_"

A tight cone of fire came roaring out of his wand only to meet a shield before one of the black-clad men. The other didn't react that fast and started to scream and claw at his burning face, as if trying to tear the flame from his skin. His partner quickly doused him with _Aguamenti_, snuffing out the fire, but the burnt man fell to the ground – likely out of it from shock. He was about to be _Ennervated_, but Harry interrupted the thug with a cutting hex of his own, which hit the man's left arm, spraying the ground with blood. He turned to the boy, snarled and raised his wand, healing the gash absent-mindedly.

Harry jumped back, letting a sickly-yellow curse to splash harmlessly into the ground. His opponent immediately launched another curse right into his face, and he had to duck below it.

Harry had been dodging curses for more than a minute, allowing none to hit him. Unfortunately, he knew that he wouldn't be able to dance around for much longer. His tormentor knew this as well, and didn't let up on the onslaught. Harry had to go on the offensive, but the small number of lesser spells he managed to send at his opponent were all stopped by a simple _Protego_. He needed something stronger. _Something stronger, or something surprising._ He rolled to the left, painfully hitting his left shoulder with a stone, and rose his left hand again.

"_Reducto, Expulso!"_

The man in black robes immediately threw up a shield, but Harry didn't aim at him. Instead, he aimed at the earth in front of the man.

Reducto is a wizard's shotgun of sorts. Its effects on unprotected body are pretty similar when it is cast with enough power. And due to his stress, Harry overpowered it, significantly increasing its area of effect.

On the other hand, Expulso is a pressure-based spell. Continuing our analogies, it is a magical grenade of sorts. It would release a pressure wave that would push everything away from the impact point.

The first spell impacted the ground, pushing up a sizeable amount of dirt. Then the Expulso exploded slightly lower, its pressure wave grounding the dirt into fine dust and throwing it up at Harry's opponent and obscuring his view.

That was the opportunity Harry was waiting for. Immediately he turned around and ran behind the closest tent as quietly as he could.

_Okay, now what?_

His mind went into overload as he circled the tents. _That guy is much, much better than I am. I survived so far only because he was being lazy and sticking to direct offence spells. I need to get behind him, and be very close._ The boy smirked. _At that distance, he will immediately hear any incantations I use. Therefore, I will just have to do this the old-fashioned way._

Harry peeked from behind the large hut-like construction he was near. He saw his opponent crouched near his fallen comrade, searching for something on the still figure. Harry took a deep breath and, after picking up a rather heavy stick that was used to secure the closest tent, started sneaking towards the man.

Ten meters. The masked man grumbled in annoyance and leaned back slightly, wiping his hands with the grass. Seven meters, he is searching for something in his pockets. Four meters, he puts some sort of object in the other guy's hand and gets up with a grunt. Two meters, Harry lifts the stick in his left hand while keeping his wand up in the right.

The improvised club connects with a satisfying 'thwack', staggering Harry's adversary.

"Fuckin' brat! _Avada Ke..._"

"_Diffindo!"_

Harry'sspell, fuelled by adrenaline and desperation, hit the man right in the middle of his torso, cutting it in half. Harry watched him falling in two pieces on the ground with an expression of disbelief on his face.

Harry looked at the gory mess on the ground between the two halves of the terrorist with a detached feeling. To his lingering surprise, he didn't feel queasy in the slightest, for which he didn't know if he should be more grateful or appalled. _It just didn't hit me yet._

The second thug was lying where he fell without giving any life signs. After thinking about it for a second, Harry sent an additional stunning hex at him and turned to the tent. _I didn't see Adel exiting it, so she must still be there. But why didn't she leave sooner?_ With a foreboding feeling he entered the tent.

Everything seemed fine inside – the things were scattered around after the noisy celebrations, sure, but nothing here stroke him as being out of place.

He raised his wand and searched the rooms for any sign of Adel. To his tired exasperation and a lot of (silent) swearing he found her sleeping on the coach in the tent's kitchen, drooling on the pillow and looking completely and utterly at peace. He wanted to wake her up, but changed his mind and, shaking his head at the girl, decided to continue standing guard near her.

**Three hours later**

He jerked himself awake at the sound of voices in his proximity. For a second he was still remembering the events that led him to awakening sitting on the coach in an unfamiliar room with a rather pretty looking girl using his lap as a pillow. Harry winced. _Oh, my legs hate me..._

_Ah. Ah. Ah..._ He remembered and immediately cursed himself for falling asleep when he intended to stay guard. _Coming down from shock or not, I shouldn't have done that._ Now there were voices outside the door. And they were angry. He winced again: best variant – it could be his friends returning to check if he was here. If so, he would be faced with a lecture of epic proportions for the gory present he left at the door. Second and third options were law enforcement and other thugs. Both would promise him a shitload of trouble. Harry gently shook Adel's shoulder. She stirred and flexed herself in a decidedly feline manner, making certain... parts stand out even more. _Damn, she's lying right on my..._

She opened her eyes and regarded him sleepily. After a couple of seconds she blinked and looked at him with bewilderment.

"Who're you?"

Harry stared at her blankly.

"Uhm... Harry," he answered dubiously. She yawned and palmed her head with a wince.

"Did I hit my head or did someone obliviate me? I don't seem to remember what happened yesterday after the Cup... ah, wait, you're that cute English guy who doesn't know his water spells," she scrunched her face in concentration and continued, not paying any mind to Harry's slight blush: "I remember that we were going to ask you guys to hang out with us... and... oh sweet Circe, I started drinking..." she paled, jumped from the coach and grabbed my shoulders. "What did I do?!" she asked, horrified. Harry shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Inwardly, he was rubbing his hands with glee.

"Well, you might have started to sing. Nice singing voice, but your diction by that moment... you get the picture."

"Oh Gods," she looked a bit ill. Harry drew a breath, trying very hard not to show his amusement at her horror.

"Then you proceeded to snog me," she blanched even stronger. "It was rather nice," he looked up, searching for inspiration. "Or it would be if you hadn't started to call me with different names."

She went from ashen to tomato red in span of a few seconds. Mentally congratulating himself, Harry nevertheless took pity on her.

"Then there was a lot of noise. The others had already left us by that point. The noise alerted me that something was very wrong. It was a terrorist attack, I think."

She muttered something under her nose, staring at him with the attention of a fatally ill man listening to the doctor.

"We needed to move. You told me you needed to gather your things and hurried inside the tent. I stood outside and..." Harry faltered. It had started to come down on him what exactly it was that he did that night. Marching his strength and forcefully changing his line of thought he continued.

"A couple of thugs attacked me. I burned one, he fainted from pain, I think. The other... well, he's dead," Harry lifted his eyes to the ceiling, determinedly **not **looking at Adel. "I left the two outside and stunned the one still alive, then came inside. You were sleeping here. Well, that's it, I guess," he turned her eyes at her. She was staring at him with a blank expression. After a couple of seconds she opened her mouth, but the door banged open.

"Is there anyone alive here?"

Harry jerked his head in the direction of the voice. An Auror, judging by his crimson robes. Noticing them, he shouted outside:

"We've got two kids here!"

Harry rose from the coach and walked to the Auror.

"How are things out there? How many casualties?" He asked, worried about his friends. The Auror winced and walked off, throwing over his shoulder:

"It's bad. Get out, we'll need your statements."

The pair complied. Harry blinked at the crowd outside: there were at least a couple dozen of Aurors walking about, gathering the evidence and talking in hushed voices.

_Oh, this is bad. OK, plan B: lie. Lie fast, lie hard, lie constantly. That and blame the government._

Before he could open his mouth, however, a severe-looking woman asked him and Adel:

"Does one of you know what happened here?"

"It was him!" Adel blurted out, pointing at Harry. He threw a betrayed glance at her. _Well, there goes the innocent act. With Veritaserum there's ultimately a snowball's chance in hell for me to just claim ignorance now._

He sighed as the woman directed her glare at him.

"Well, they attacked me. I defended myself."

"With lethal force?" came the calm-sounding answer. He did not let the tone fool him – the woman was furious. _What, was one of those guys a relative?_ Harry snorted and glared at her in return.

"What would you suggest – that I should have answered to potentially lethal spells – I'm pretty sure half of the stuff they threw at me was Dark Arts – with **tickling hexes**?"

She had the good graces to look abashed.

"Nevertheless, you could have used stunners. What did you do to them, by the way?"

Harry shrugged.

"A scorcherand a cutter. And by the way, if I didn't cut the last guy, he would have finished casting the Killing Curse."

She looked at the two bodies that were currently levitated past them._ It seemed that the first guy died as well_. Harry couldn't figure out how he felt about this whole thing. _When will it hit me, I wonder?_

"It was obviously something stronger," the chief officer said disbelievingly. "Then again, stress can amount for the damage..."

Harry shrugged again and looked at the blooded grass. There was a pregnant pause. Then she sighed and told him:

"Hand over your wand."

He snapped his attention to her.

"Why?"

"So that I can determine the truth of your words," she answered plainly. Harry unsheathed his wand warily and gave it handle-first to the woman. She touched it with her own wand.

"_Priori Incantatem._"

A cloud of grey mist came out of the touching tips. A torched figure of the first of Harry's opponents coalesced into being and immediately fell like a puppet with its strings cut, apparently hit by a stunner, before exploding into smoke again. The smoke distorted, dimmed and brightened again, once more forming the figure, this time being cut in half. Half-fascinated, half-horrified, he watched the mist repeat all the spells he had cast in the brief duel, exploding into sparks to indicate a miss or forming a shield to show that it it was deflected. After the smoke started to show feather-weight charms he performed on the trip to the Dursleys from Hogwarts, the Auror lady stopped.

"You hit the man you burned with a stunner. You thought he was still alive, I take it?"

"Yes," Harry grimaced. "I think I was in shock back then, after..." he gestured at the red grass marking the place where the sliced guy had been.

"How about you explain it all in order," she said, but they were interrupted. Three Aurors approached them with grim faces.

"Madam Bones, this is bad."

She nodded to the one in the front and he continued:

"We've identified them. It's Maul and Avery. Malfoy seems to know already and is currently raising one hell of a stink and all that company is calling for blood. Do we have a suspect?"

"This young man confessed but pleaded self-defence," she gestured at Harry. The Auror looked at him with sympathy.

"Damn, lad, you're in for it. The purebloods are not going to let it slide. All right, Ma'am, have you already written the protocol?"

"No."

"Well, lad, do you know where your companions are?" the Auror asked, not unkindly. He shrugged.

"Nope. Have you seen the Weasleys around?"

"You're with them? They are running around and looking for someone, must be you. Let's just go find them and sort this mess out."

Harry nodded and gestured in the direction of the Weasley tent. They were walking for a couple of minutes without breaking silence. The boy was contemplating the chances to escape punishment and mentally reviewing everything he has ever heard about the Magical Law Enforcement and the laws of the wizarding society. His companion/guard was whistling something under his nose and checking out the surroundings. Along their path the damage was nearly non-existent, the terrorists having chosen some other direction to go.

In no time at all, they have reached the Weasley tents. Harry could clearly see Mr. Weasley standing right in front of it and talking to someone still inside.

"Arthur! Is this the boy you've been looking for?" the Auror shouted. Mr. Weasley turned around with such speed Harry could swear that his boots started to smoke.

"It's Harry! They found him!" he shouted into the tent. Almost immediately the whole group came out of it.

After some back-slapping, hugs and worried questions, Mr. Weasley asked the Auror:

"Thank you, Derwish, we were worried that one of the Death Eaters got him..."

"Ah, that's by the way the reason I'm here. Apparently, the lad got the Death Eaters. Two of them, to be precise," the Auror smiled grimly. "Maul and Avery won't be around to kill muggles anymore."

Mr. Weasley blanched and looked at me.

"You mean..."

Harry shrugged.

"I had to protect myself."

"Um... Harry? What are you talking about?" Hermione asked fearfully. The boy looked at her – she stared at him with something akin to fear. Fear for him or of him – that he didn't know, but the mere thought of his friend being afraid of him cut him deeper than any spell.

"Well, there were two bastards throwing curses at me, and I had to do something so as not to die myself," he explained, acting as nonchalantly as he could.

"Our Harrikins grew some brass ones," George said, elbowing his twin.

"True, true."

Harry grinned at them, which unnerved them visibly.

"Well, he'll have to be present at the official hearing, so expect an owl in the near future. What is your name, lad?"

Harry looked at his face and as nonchalantly as he could he answered:

"Harry Potter."

The Auror's eyes widened and he glanced at the scar, partially concealed by my hair.

"Merlin," he breathed. After a moment of hesitation he shook his head.

"I don't know if this fact will make it easier for you to get away with or harder, kid."

_I'd like to know that myself._


End file.
